


Patients

by E_C_C_E_N_TRIC



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hospital, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cancer, Cancer Pidge, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Depression, Digestion Issues, Gay Keith (Voltron), Hate to Love, Hawaiian Hunk (Voltron), Heavy Angst, Hospital Patients, Hurt Keith (Voltron), I make myself cry, Insecure Lance (Voltron), M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Orphan Keith (Voltron), Shatt, Suicide Attempt, Survivors, You Have Been Warned, heart problems, hospital au, klance, patients
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2018-10-26 10:05:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 25
Words: 45,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10784646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/E_C_C_E_N_TRIC/pseuds/E_C_C_E_N_TRIC
Summary: Growing up at the Garrison Hospital wasn't Keith's plan, but after finding out that the boy had an enlarged heart, his parents abandoned him, leaving him in the care of one of the Doctors - Shirogane. Being surrounded by people plagued with diseases and death was normal for Keith, simply because he knew no other way of life. Though one day, when the emergency doors burst open, Lance McClain was wheeled into his life on a bloodied stretcher, bringing with him a strange sense of belonging and love.





	1. Letting You Know

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: This fic may contain triggers. Lance is in the hospital because of a suicide attempt. If it makes you feel uncomfortable, know that you are not obligated to continue reading. I want everyone to be safe and happy. You don't have to read it if you don't want to. 
> 
> This is going to hit home for a lot of people. You have been warned.

Some information on this fic before I actually begin. 

This is a Hospital AU including the Voltron: Legendary Defender cast. Each character is diagnosed with a different illness. Lance is battling depression. Keith has an enlarged heart. Hunk has digestion issues. Pidge is fighting cancer. Coran is in a seemingly permanent coma, and Allura is thought to be severely deluded. 

After Keith's birth parents found out he had heart problems, they refused to take him home with them, stating that they 'didn't want to raise a defect child'. Having no where else to go, Keith was taken in by one of the doctors, Shiro. Shay, a volunteer nurse at the hospital, openly shares her concerns about raising Keith on his own, but Shiro won't allow anyone to take the boy into an orphanage. 

Shay is a regular volunteer at the Garrison hospital, and finds herself falling in love with the Hawaiian, Hunk. 

After Lance is admitted to the hospital, he struggles to find friends, hope, and happiness.


	2. Time Heals All Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Understand that this is a story written for me. I've gone through some hard times, and writing is a form of coping for me. As these characters go through trials and overcome them, we're all going through hard times ourselves. There are serious situations involved in this fic, and although there are parts where it is appropriate to laugh, not every page comes with those benefits. 
> 
> So grab your tissues, get some chocolate, and dive in.

**April 4, 2017**

**Garrison Hospital**

**Room 302**

“They say Time heals all wounds. 

“So far, I’ve been alive for approximately 14 years, 29 days and 3 hours. Now tell me . . . how much longer must I wait for my heart to heal - for everything to, as they say, ‘be okay’? How many more days of this torture must I endure before I can feel whole? How many more sleepless nights will pass before time finally works its magic, and takes away my pain?

“I suppose we’ll never know. For me, all Time has done is dragged on and on, filling my mind with more memories. Memories of faces I never wanted to see. Memories of death I should never have to witness. For me, all Time has done is add to the tragedy I’m forced to gaze upon every day. It stalks me in the halls of this cold, dead building. It follows me to the neighbor’s room, and somehow finds the strength to continue, even after the line fell flat, her heart stopped beating, and her family screamed, begging her to come back to them. 

“For me, all Time has done is brought evidence. Evidence that people - people I know and love - want nothing but to change the past. Time reassures me that there’s evil in the world, and that no matter how hard humanity may try, history will always repeat itself. We never learn. No matter how many years go by, taking innocent lives with it, Time will continue, and it won’t ever look back. It won’t shed any tears when it learns your loved ones have passed. In fact, Time may even mock you in the same way it mocks me on this very night. It’ll revisit your mind, and bring all those painful memories back. Teasing you. Showing you things you’ll never be able to change, because Time is a stubborn bitch who takes pride in making you feel useless, unwanted and worthless. 

“So why? Why are so many people giving Time credit that it does not deserve? 

“They say Time heals all wounds.

“Well, I’ve made my opinion clear, and I’ll state it again. 

“I say Time’s a stubborn bitch.”

_Click._

Keith sighed as the recorded video came to a close. It was nothing but spoken words and a black screen, but it was the life he lead. Often, when he found he had nothing better to do, he’d pull out his treasured journal (which was, in fact, an iPad Pro), and listen to his old entries. Yes, it got depressing. Yes, Keith openly admitted the fact that he was a pessimist, but he felt as if that wasn’t entirely his fault. 

All his life, he’d been trapped within the confines of only two buildings: The Garrison Hospital, and the small apartment he shared with his brother. 

Well, not brother. More like an older man who decided to take pity on him, granting him with a roof over his head, food on the table and a place to stay. No matter how well Shiro played the part of an older brother, Keith knew they were far from related. 

Now, as he sat in his hospital room, Keith stared at the ceiling, eyes grazing over every stain, dent and imperfection. He had memorized the tiles of this ceiling many years before, and was pleasantly surprised whenever a new mark appeared. Here, change wasn’t often applied, so Keith welcomed any differences he could find. 

In the building itself, that is. 

Not including people. 

For if he were to include people in his little game of ‘spot the differences’, he’d be winning too easily. Patients come and go, just like the sun and the moon. They’ll show their faces every once in awhile, but after a few days, they’d disappear. Keith would never see them again. 

Hence the reason he refused to grow so close to anyone other than Shiro, Allura and Shay. 

Once before had he made the mistake of befriending another patient. 

For the briefest of moments, Keith considered listening to his entry concerning that certain someone, but immediately pushed the thought from his mind. He didn’t want to remember the pain he went through that day. Those weeks. Those months. 

He didn’t want a reminder. 

Slipping the cover over the blank screen of his iPad, Keith stood from his cot. He had wanted to speak to Shiro about the possible donor a few days ago, but seeing as how the man was always busy, it was hard to remind him. Now, though, Keith was determined not to leave Shiro’s side until he was properly informed. 

Strolling down the halls of the hospital, Keith kept his gaze to the floor, the familiar scent of iodoform filling his nostrils. Catching glimpses of employee’s sneakers every few seconds, Keith would pick up his pace slightly until he saw Shiro’s black Vans.

Raising his head, Keith found himself staring at the scar that adorned the bridge of Shiro’s nose.

“Oh,” Shiro said, a bit surprised, “Hey, Keith.”

“The donor,” Keith said in reply, “Any more news?”

The usual gleam in Shiro’s eyes diminished. He shook his head, and Keith’s chest fell with despair.

“Yeah . . . she passed a few days ago, before we could get her family’s permission to go ahead with the surgery. She was the only one that wanted it, and now that she’s gone, her family refuses. I’m sorry, Keith.”

Keith nodded solemnly. “It’s alright,” He lied. He wanted to ask if her family was still around, so he could give them his condolences, but with the bad news came the heartache, and when Keith’s heart swelled with emotion, it became dangerous to be anywhere but on his cot. 

Sensing his discomfort, Shiro placed a warm hand on Keith’s shoulder, offering a small, sympathetic smile. 

“It’s alright. We’ll wait for the next available one.”

Without a word, Keith turned to leave. He wanted to argue that no, it wasn’t alright. He wanted to express his feelings of helplessness. He wanted Shiro to know how uncomfortable it made him - waiting. Waiting for years for someone compatible with himself. Waiting for someone to die, just so he could steal their heart.

Keith wanted Shiro to understand how that made him feel. 

Like a killer. 

Like he was robbing someone of their life. 

No matter the fact that they were already dead. He would know that the organ pumping through his veins wouldn’t be his own. It would be another’s. And that, he wasn’t sure if he could live with. 

Some days, Keith just wished he wouldn’t wake up. 

That way, he could pass on. He could leave this hellish place, and not have to worry about taking something so valuable from someone who had a family and friends. 

That way he wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of depriving someone of their heart. He felt a lot more comfortable with that option. Dying before they could change his anatomy. Dying before they could gut someone else. 

Inhaling deeply, Keith took the necessary amount of steps to make it across the hall and to the entrance to his room. 

However, as Keith was pushing open his door, he heard the elevator _ding_ open.

Normally, Keith would duck into the nearest room, avoid eye contact and continue on with his day. 

But today, as the crew of employees peddled a stretcher past him, Keith looked up to see the next victim in this horrid world. 

And saw blood.

Lots of blood.

It trickled down his gauzed forearms. It splattered the floor. It stained his simple blue t-shirt. It soaked through the bandages. 

As Keith stared, there was only one thing plaguing his mind: _He’s not going to make it._

The stretcher raced past him, its occupant’s freckled face paling by the second. 

Clamping his eyes shut, the vision burned into the back of Keith’s eyelids, causing his head to swirl. Blood. So much blood. 

Heart racing, Keith hurried into his own room, practically stumbling onto his cot in a cold sweat. 

You’d think he’d be used to the sight of so much blood after spending so many years in the hospital. And for the first few months, he was. It was natural for someone to come flinging through the doors, coated in crimson and wailing in pain. 

But after Rolo died . . . it was never the same. 

Every drop of scarlet red liquid sent the memories hurling back. 

Bags and bags of rich blood. The blood of his friend. The blood of his lover. The blood of a dead man.

There was always too much blood. Too much iron. They tried to save to him. To remove the blood. But they failed. There was always too much. They couldn’t remove it all. They couldn’t save him. 

Chest heaving, Keith tried to force his mind to shut down as the tears started rolling. 

He didn’t want to think about this. 

He didn’t want to think about Rolo.

Turning to his side, Keith gasped for air, his chest burning in unimaginable pain. 

He couldn’t breathe.

Desperate, Keith tried calling out to Shrio. 

Not a word slipped from his quivering lips.

Rasping out a plea, Keith felt his tears stinging his pale cheeks as they slipped restlessly down his cheeks to soak into his sheets.

He had to calm down - regulate his breathing. 

Grabbing fistfuls of the sheets, Keith pressed his face into the pillow. Focusing on the steady, rhythmic ticking of the clock, Keith slowly started to exhale. Inhale. 

Exhale. 

Inhale.

After about 10 minutes of breathing, Keith finally managed to sit upright. A loud _CRASH_ followed his action.

Flinching, Keith pressed his right hand over his diseased heart. Peering over the side of the cot, he saw his iPad Pro.

It must have slipped off the edge of the bed.

Sighing, Keith plucking it up from the floor, flipping it open to reveal his lock-screen. 

It used to be a picture of him and Rolo, snickering at the Hospital lunch lady, who was, at the time, scolding a younger girl for stealing a few extra pudding cups. The girl, however, decided to bring the woman’s name into the conversation and - considering the elder’s surname - that wasn’t the brightest idea.

Keith couldn’t recall the girl’s actual name, but he was sure the other patients had called her Pidge.

Either way, Rolo and Keith had thought it hilarious. No one ever dared snatch extra food while Ms. Cock was in the kitchen, and no one ever dared call her Ms. Cock and make a joke of it. 

Yet, valiant little Pidge had done both.

Now, though, his lock-screen was just a fascinating picture of the galaxy. He had always loved stars and anatomy, and, despite how much he had loved Rolo all the same, he only had one of those things now. 

So he went with space.

Tapping in his password, Keith found himself staring at a blank screen: Another one of his oral entries on pause.

Sliding it aside, Keith then grabbed his stylist, and began sketching. 

Often times, his pictures illustrated his entries. Now wasn’t an exception. 

Flicking his wrist with rhythm and purpose, Keith began depicting the mental image that came to mind after he had listened to his first entry.

A bag of blood, trapped behind a broken clock, it’s contents leaking through the cracked glass. Above the image, he wrote, “THEY SAY TIME HEALS ALL WOUNDS”, and below, he wrote, “I SAY TIME’S A STUBBORN BITCH”


	3. Want a Butterfinger?

**April 6, 2017**

**Garrison Hospital**

**Room 233**

Keith had been roaming the halls of the hospital for the past two days, gazing at walls he already had memorized, running his fingertips over cracks that had been there for years. He wasn’t sure where he would go today. He always just let his feet carry him around, see where they took him next. Today, they were leading him passed the cafeteria, where Pidge (who was now coating her bald head with syrup) sat with her new friend Hunk. Keith had never known them personally. He was only acquainted with their disorders and illnesses. 

Pidge was battling cancer, while Hunk was suffering from Gastroparesis. Keith was dimly aware of the fact that the Hawaiian had dreamed of being a culinary artist ever since he was 5. Now, he would never be able to digest a bite of food again. 

Allowing his legs to lead him down the hall, Keith ended up in front of room 233, where he saw the newest addition to the demented teens. 

Apparently it was a suicide attempt. 

Keith had remembered all too well the blood dripping down the boy’s forearms, where deep, vertical slices had been made in his tan skin. He was bandaged up now, and looked a little more alive. Keith supposed he had been wrong when he thought the boy would pass. 

Looking at him now with curiosity, Keith noticed Shiro was in the same room, attempting to feed the boy a plate of filthy hospital potatoes and mashed beans infested with God knows what. 

The boy refused to eat, keeping his eyes down at his lap, as if in a solemn prayer.

Without thinking, Keith entered the room. 

It certainly smelled like blood. The deep scent on iron clinging to the air, and the sense of death lingering nearby. 

“Shiro,” Keith said softly, moving to stand next to his brother’s side. 

Shiro had sighed, moving the plate of food back to himself in defeat. He gave Keith a small, sympathetic smile. 

“Hey, Keith. Shouldn’t you be in your room?”

Keith nodded slowly. “Yeah,” He confessed, “I was just out on a walk. What’re doing?”

Shiro’s eyes flicked back to the silent patient, a pinch of worry and fear shining over his features. 

“Just trying to get Lance to eat. You sure you don’t want any?” Shiro pressed, holding out the plate of food again. 

The patient - now known as Lance - didn’t respond. 

He was wearing a different shirt than a couple days ago. This one wasn’t splotched in blood. Instead, he wore a blue-sleeved baseball T-shirt that hung a little loosely over his skinny frame. His hair was a matted mess, and his eyes looked swollen from crying the night before.  

“Do you know why he won’t eat?” Keith asked.

Shiro shook his head. “No idea.”

“Maybe it’s because this place serves mashed up beetle barf for beans and regurgitated shit for potatoes.”

“Keith. Language.” Shiro said warningly, just as a small huff of a laugh filled the room. 

Keith raised his gaze to see the simplest smile on Lance’s face, though it disappeared within the next second.

Smirking at Shiro, Keith stood up a little straighter. “I’ll go get some real food. Be right back.”

Making his way out of room 233, Keith shoved his hands in the pockets of his ripped black jeans, foraging around for any spare cash or change. He knew there was a vending machine on the first floor, filled with Sun Chips, Pop Tarts, Pringles and loads of other amazing junk food. Finding four dollar bills, a quarter, three pennies and a nickel, Keith mentally added up the money, calculating what he’d be able to afford. 

By the time he made it to the vending machine, he had already decided on getting Garden Salsa Sun Chips, a couple Butterfingers and a bag of Mini Oreos. As he waited, watching the metal bars spiraling in order to release the candy bars, Keith thought about the next journal entry he would make. He usually planned out a script before recording himself, and even kept his notes on a separate app on his iPad. It had been three years since he had recorded his first entry, and by now he had 458, with nearly 100 sketches that went hand in hand with some of his favorite entries. 

Bending over to snag the food from the vending machine, Keith pocketed his change, turned around, and carried it back to Lance’s room. While quietly walking into the elevator, Keith reached an arm out to stop the doors from closing so a doctor, a mother and her daughter could enter. 

“Thank you,” Said the doctor with a strained smile. 

Keith recognized the young daughter as Pidge. Her bald head had been scrubbed clean of the syrup, and now, instead of laughing with her friends, she seemed to be holding back tears. 

The elevator doors slid closed, and Keith awkwardly stepped back into the far corner as the mother began speaking to the doctor. 

“Isn’t there anything else you can do? I mean . . .” Her voice became a whisper, “Look at her. Can’t you guys provide decent clothes? A wig, maybe?”

The doctor sighed, as if he had heard this a thousand times before. “Mrs. Holt, I told you. We do our best to keep our patients healthy and alive. It’s not exactly our top priority to make everyone look like a model. We save lives, not give people makeovers.”

“But Thace-” Pidge’s mother argued, “I just want my daughter to be happy. I want her to be beautiful. She needs confidence. She’s becoming more frail and sad. I don’t want her to shrivel away like those old folks who lose everything-”

“Mrs. Holt,” Doctor Thace said with a hint of warning, “You’re daughter is in good care-”

“Quit talking about me like I’m not even here,” Pidge spoke up, her voice rich with independence, “I don’t want to be beautiful, _Mother,_ I want to be healthy.”

“Kaite!” Mrs. Holt hissed, sending her daughter a small look of disapproval. Then her gaze flicked over to Keith with surprise, as if she had forgotten that they weren’t alone. 

The doors opened with a _ding!_ , slicing through the thick silence that had filled the room. Keith quietly watched Katie, her mother, and Thace exit the elevator, feeling more than a little awkward. 

Waiting for the doors to slide closed again so he could get to the correct floor, Keith lowered his gaze to the bag of chips he was holding. 

He didn’t know much about the Holt family. Just that their father was a successful astronomer, Mrs. Holt was a stay at home mom, Pidge had cancer, and her older brother (Mitch?) was off at college. 

Stepping out of the elevator when the doors slid open, Keith kept his eyes on the numbers marking the individual rooms. Stopping when he came to room 233, Keith turned the handle and let himself in, the snacks he had bought starting to slip from his grasp. Lightly kicking the door closed with his foot, Keith carefully balanced the treats in his arms, making his way to the side of Lance’s bed, where Shiro remained. 

“Here,” Keith said, plopping the food down near the foot of the bed, “Maybe he’ll eat this.”

Shiro sighed sadly. 

“I don’t think so, Keith.” Giving Lance a rather worried look, Shiro then lead Keith out in the hall to explain the situation in more detail. 

“Lance hasn’t willingly eaten in weeks, Keith. He’s leaning more toward the anorexic side, and his parents informed us recently that in the past few years, he’d just push his food around on his plate, not eating any of it. If he did, he’d just throw it up a few minutes after consuming it.” Shiro’s eyes shone with pain. 

Keith knew that look. Shiro always looked like that when he knew someone was going to die. He always looked like that when he knew one of his patients wasn’t going to make it. 

“He’s starving himself, Keith.” Shiro said. 

Keith stood silently for a moment, sensing the physical pain in Shiro’s heart. Keith knew that Shiro tended to blame himself for the losses of his patients. He knew that the days that followed the death were full of thick, dangerous silence and empty stares.

Keith had seen a lot of death in the past four years. It was completely natural for him to see a pale face, staring into oblivion, deprived of energy and void of life. 

He should be able to handle one more loss, shouldn’t he? He should be fine, watching another person die. He didn’t know them. It shouldn’t affect him. 

But it was different for Shiro. 

Shiro actually took the time to get to know every single patient. He cared for them, made them laugh, and gave them hope. 

Keith wasn’t like that. 

He shouldn’t care.

However, as Keith stared through the Plexiglas window separating him from the suicidal patient, Keith felt a sense of protectiveness. He felt the need to help this stranger. He wanted to. 

It was a strange feeling - one he hadn’t experienced since he had grown so close to Rolo. 

That particular thought terrified Keith. 

If this was another stunningly handsome teenager whom Keith would end up falling head over heels for, he didn’t want anything to do with Lance. 

Yet . . . the feeling refused to subside. 

Keith stared through the window, watching sadly as Lance’s gaze remained fixed on the bloodied wrappings covering his forearms. For over a minute, Keith eyed the other boy, until finally, his legs decided to move. 

They carried him into the room, forcing him to sit in the chair beside the dying patient. His arms stretched outward; one grabbing a Butterfinger, the other resting on Lance’s paling fingers. 

“Please,” Keith whispered desperately, “You have to eat. I promise, vending machine Butterfingers are way better than regurgitated shit potatoes.”

And there it was. 

A simple, beautiful smile that slowly started to tug at the corners of Lance’s mouth. It spread contagiously across his features, the pink ribbon of his lips sweetly complementing the whites of his teeth.

Slowly but surely, Lance’s fingertips grazed over Keith’s until lightly grasping the candy bar Keith had bought for him. With a small nod, Lance began unwrapping the Butterfinger carefully. 

Sharing a simple smile with the boy, Keith watched, intrigued, as Lance began nibbling on the end of the chocolate bar. His grin had disappeared, but that was alright with Keith.

He would make it come back soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed Chapter 2! It's a little shorter than I planned (sorry).


	4. Surrender Before the War Starts

**April 6, 2017**

**Garrison Hospital**

**Room 233**

“That’s the first time he’s eaten since he arrived here,” Shiro said, looking shocked. “We’ve brought him everything we could think of: his favorite ice cream flavor, his favorite meal for breakfast, lunch and dinner. We’ve tried everything. He hasn’t even spoken to us.” There was a glint of curiosity shimmering in Shiro’s eyes as he looked Keith up and down. “So why would he eat now?” He asked rhetorically, a small smile beginning to tug at the corners of his lips. There was a rather awkward pause of silence as the two of them stood in the hallway just outside of Lance’s room, where he was munching away on his Mini Oreos and Butterfingers. 

“Keith,” Shiro said, and by the tone of his voice, Keith knew he had come to a proposition. “Why don’t you come back in a few hours, in time for lunch? Bring enough food for the both of you.”

“What?” Keith wondered. “Why? He’s eating now, isn’t he?” Keith didn’t understand why it would make a difference if he were there or not. 

“Keith, Lance has barely even _moved_ in the 57 hours he’s been here. All he’s done is stare down at his wrists. Today, I saw him smile. _Twice._ And I saw him eat. As far as I know, it’s because you were there. If you can come in regularly to see him, maybe he’ll get better.”

Keith let that sink in as he stared inside at Lance. His tan lips were slightly open as he plopped in another Mini Oreo, then proceeded to chew, his eyes still focused on his lap. He seemed to be in some sort of trance, his mind roaming anywhere but in his body. 

“Shiro, I can’t-” Keith said in a broken voice. “You know I can’t-”

Shiro placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder supportively. “I understand that what happened to Rolo was unbearable. I know you two were really great friends-”

Keith scoffed. Shiro may have known he was gay, but he had no idea just how much that white haired boy had meant to Keith. 

“-I know that you’ve been through a lot of heartache throughout your life. But this boy needs help. And if help comes in the form of you, Keith, then I’d like you to be there for him. Can you do that?”

Keith refused to look Shiro in the eyes. 

He couldn’t bear falling in love with another patient just to watch them die again. 

“Shiro-” Keith began, “I don’t know . . .”

“Please, think about it,” Shiro said, and even though Keith couldn’t see his face, he knew Shiro was giving him a sympathetic smile. 

“Sure,” Keith mumbled. 

“Thank you.”

Shiro’s Vans tapped on the hospital floor as he walked back into Lance’s room, leaving Keith in the hallway to make an impossible decision. 

After standing there numbly for another three minutes, Keith finally turned to leave, retreating to his own room. Almost subconsciously, his fingers grazed over his iPad, then plucked it off from the nightstand. Flipping the cover open, Keith stared at a blank screen for a while before pressing RECORD. 

“I’ve been given a choice today.

“I can save a life, in exchange for my dysfunctional heart. Or I can let them die, and keep the few shards of myself that I have left. Either way, the end result is death - whether it be physical, or emotional. I’ve never been big on making decisions. Some would call me ‘inconclusive.’ Or perhaps they’d use a different word - a derogatory term. ‘Ditherer,’ ‘waffler,’ or even ‘vacillate.’ My point being that I don’t use my mind for much anymore. My thoughts drift back to the same things every day. I ponder on the stale, boring colors of the walls, the placid faces wandering the halls and the rather inferior pieces of my life. Never have I focused on Hope. I don’t believe I have enough courage to hold onto something as fragile as Hope. It would slip right through my pale fingers, and come crashing down on the shattered tiles of the floor beneath me. Then, before I could gather enough energy to fall to my knees and pick up the pieces, it would sink through the cracks, too. Down to the basement, leaking through the pipes and soaking into the Earth beneath. It would vanish. All my Hope would drown. 

“So I took the precautionary measures. I carefully set Hope down before I could drop it. I buried my Hope so I wouldn’t have to go through the pain of watching it die unexpectedly; when its loss would take me by surprise, and I’d get hit by the bullet it sent my way. I let it go before it gained the potential to disappear when I needed it most. 

“I surrendered before the war had even begun.

“Some will tell me that that’s a mistake. People _have_ told me that it was a mistake. They tell me I should have fought. I should have at least tried. But they had no idea the demons I was facing - the demons I _am_ facing. They can’t see the battlefield, and the plans that my opponents have made. 

“So I’ll say this now, to everyone who ever told me to ‘Keep Fighting.’

“How can I keep fighting . . . when I never even started? If I had been fighting for all these years, I would have been killed by now. Which is why I chose not to. I laid down my weapons of war, and I gave my demons everything. 

“I surrendered before the war had even begun.

“That’s how I’ve survived for so long.

“Because I gave them everything - including my Hope.”

Pressing STOP, Keith kept his eyes focused on the black screen in front of him for a few more minutes before he officially saved it as entry number 459, titled ‘Surrender Before the War Starts.’”

With a mental image started to seep into his brain, Keith grabbed his stylist and began doodling a pile of bloody, rusted weapons. There were daggers, spears, axes, javelins and more. It was a dark and graphic picture, with morbid colors placed there by a harsh flick of his wrist. Above the pile of weapons, he wrote out in scratchy letters. “I SURRENDERED BEFORE THE WAR HAD EVEN BEGUN,” and below, “THAT’S HOW I’VE SURVIVED FOR SO LONG”

Once finished, Keith set his iPad down on his cot to take another look at it. Deciding that he was satisfied with the drawing, he attached it to his journal entry, then slid the cover back on. 

He had planned to take a small nap. Maybe read another book or listen to music. What he didn’t plan on was roaming into Rolo’s old room. 

**Room 316**

It was still empty.

It had been empty for almost three years now, in respect and remembrance of Rolo Doran.

Keith refused to let any other patient occupy this particular room. In fact, the first time Shiro had rolled an injured person into the room after Rolo had passed away, Keith found himself screaming at his brotherly figure. With tears cascading down his cheeks, pain overworking his enlarged heart and anger boiling through his blood, Keith had little control over the things that had so profusely left his mouth, and the objects he had so harshly thrown at the doctors. He vaguely remembered the incident itself, but he had his feelings recorded on his iPad. 

That was enough proof of the pain everyone had caused that day. 

Keith had been so angry. 

He had wondered how anyone could be so heartless - how they could move on so easily. Someone had died, and all they did was roll in another fractured body. As if just anyone could take Rolo’s place. As if it didn’t matter that the only person Keith had ever lent his heart to had just fallen off the face of the Earth. 

All they did was try to replace him. 

They didn’t understand that Rolo, unlike all the other patients, was irreplaceable.

So Keith stood in front of **Room 316** with a sort of ferocity sparking in his eyes. He stood his ground, and refused to move. Because if there was anyone worth sticking up for - _fighting_ for - it was Doran. He stood there, glaring at Shiro until he found another room. Ignoring the tears that continued to slide down his cheeks and the unbearable pain bursting through his chest, Keith stood, and he refused to move. 

“You can’t come in here,” Keith had said with determination, “This is Rolo’s room.” 

Never mind the fact that the room was vacant. 

Never mind the fact that its last occupant had died just a few nights prior.

It was Rolo’s room. 

And it always would be. 

So here Keith was, fingers gripping at the sheets he died on as the tears came once more, and the heartache returned. Here he was, collapsing onto the cot, knowing that Rolo wouldn’t be there to softly catch him in his lap. Here he was, resting his head on the pillow his lover had once hugged to his chest as they injected him with yet another needle. Here he was, staring out the very window they used to draw on with their warm breath and childish fingers.

Keith closed his eyes, hearing a soft _splash_ as a thick tear dripped onto the pillow. 

He remembered feeling Rolo’s smooth, white hair under his fingertips. He remembered looking into the boy’s eyes, and seeing all the hidden worlds beyond every star in the sky. 

Everything with Rolo was an adventure. 

Because they were kids, and they were oblivious.

They didn’t think anything bad could happen. 

The thought just never occurred.

Until the unbelievable happened. 

Until one of them died . . . and the other was abandoned. 

Keith took in a deep breath, wishing the sheets still smelled like him. Rolo always had that sort of metallic scent to him. Whether it was because of all the nuts and bolts he used to tinker with in his spare time or all the extra iron in his blood system, Keith would never know. 

Perhaps it was a mix of both.

Opening his eyes just to have them stare aimlessly out the window, Keith softened his grip on the sheets. It was always dark in this room, and though at first Keith had thought it was a bit too gloomy, now the darkness was preferable. 

It fit his mood quite nicely, and made it easier to shut his thoughts down.

Here, he could be empty. 

He didn’t have to worry about the other patients, or all the doctors. He didn’t have to worry about his heart, or the way others thought about him.

Here, he could live in the past. 

He could be with his lover once more. 

Keith allowed more tears to slip down his cheeks and soak the pillow as he recalled the last conversation him and Rolo had had. 

_“Oh, c’mon, Keith,” Rolo said, his freckled shoulders bouncing up and down with his laughter, “I thought you said you were good at this.”_

_“I_ am, _” Keith retorted, his cheeks flaring an unmistakable pink as he stuck his tongue out with concentration. “Just . . . give me a second.” Flipping the kendama once more, Keith zeroed his eyesight in on the ball as it began falling back down, heading right towards the spike- then missing completely. “Ugh!” Keith groaned, dropping the seemingly useless toy to the floor. “Are you kidding me?!” The young boy crossed his arms, frustrated. He had just lost a couple of his baby canine teeth a couple weeks ago, and it was bad enough having Rolo tease him about that. Now the older boy was making fun of his unprecedented gloating._

_Rolo chuckled at Keith’s failed attempt. “Here. Pick it up. I’ll show you some tricks.”_

_Hesitantly plucking up the kendama from the floor, little 11-year-old Keith handed it over to Rolo, who had just turned 15._

_Never let it be said Keith isn’t a boy to fall for older men._

_Keith watched with admiration as Rolo swiftly flicked his wrist, landing the wooden ball on the tip of the spike on his first try. After he executed the same motion again perfectly, Keith demanded to know the secret._

_So Rolo taught him how to hold it right. He showed him where to put his fingers, at what angle to hold the wood and how much force was needed to get it in the correct spot._

_After spending more than enough time playing with the needless toy, the two of them were interrupted when Shiro came into the room uninvited. He nodded to Rolo, then announced, “Time for another operation.”_

_A moment of silence._

_“Alright,” Rolo said, and his voice sounded a little dry, “Can I just say goodnight to Keith?”_

_“Of course.” Shiro smiles sadly, then left the two boys alone for a minute longer._

_“Keith,” Rolo said, turning to his friend._

Looking back on it now, Keith assumed Rolo had known. He knew those might be the last words Keith would ever hear from him. He knew he may not survive the operation. He knew he might die.

_“Yeah?” Oblivious Keith asked._

_Rolo pressed a hand to Keith’s cheek, and it instantly grew warmer. Not every day an attractive man caresses your face so gently and lovingly._

_At the time, Keith was hoping for a kiss._

_A simple, magical touch of their lips._

_Instead, he got a, “You’re smart, y’know? A clever little thing.”_

_Perking an eyebrow up in curiosity, Keith waited for his lover to explain further._

_“You’re amazing, Keith. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”_

_Keith chuckled, a little embarrassed. He lightly placed his hand over Rolo’s, the one adorning his rosy cheek. “Rolo . . . you’re amazing, too.”_

_“Yeah, I know,” Rolo said teasingly, “But I doubt I’m as amazing as you. And besides, you’re now just as a champ at kendama as I am. You’re really livin’ up to everything I assumed you’d be. Spoilers - all my assumptions are positive.” Rolo winked, and Keith thought his little prepubescent heart was going to explode right then and there._

_“Wow . . . that’s . . .” Keith breathed, feeling even more compelled to kiss his friend than usual._

But he never got the chance.

Shiro had come back into **Room 316** with more doctors, ready to perform the last, fatal operation on Rolo Doran.


	5. The Altean Princess

**April 7, 2017**

**Garrison Hospital**

**Room 302**

“This morning, I came to a decision.

“I stated before that I let go of Hope.

“And I’ll say it again, along with this: Today, I’m giving up my soul as well. 

“I’m giving it to the boy in **Room 233.** Lance McClain. He’s nearly 14, and, according to his records, he attempted suicide not a week ago. He hasn’t said a word since he arrived here at the Garrison, yet his silence speaks a thousand words to me. It’s as if I can hear his dark and dangerous thoughts. I can see the pain he had to endure, and I understand what it’s like to feel alone. Unwanted. Better off dead. 

“So, I’m giving myself to him. For better or for worse, I’m going to tear myself apart, and put him together with the pieces of myself that are left over. I’ll do whatever I can to save him, even if it means I have to give up everything. I’m willing. In fact, I’m more than willing. I _want_ to do this. 

“Perhaps I should find my eagerness horrific and careless. Perhaps I should be terrified for what I’m about to do. But the truth is: I don’t care. Because starting today, I’m no longer living. I’ll just be another ghost in this filthy building, roaming the halls of the hospital aimlessly, with no particular intent but to save him.

“I’m not sure why I feel so compelled to swoop into this stranger’s life like some type of Hero. Maybe it’s because, somewhere in the back of my mind, I know that this boy has a family. I know that there are people out there who love him. He’s wanted, whereas, I’m just . . . here. Taking up space and causing havoc. I’m a nuisance. And because I’m aware of this fact, I’m determined to replace my life with his. So long as this boy is breathing, so long as he’s awake . . . I’ll give him everything. My heart, my lungs, my beautifully demented state of mind. I’ll give him everything, so long as he lives. 

“He deserves life.

“I do not.

“It’s a fair exchange, right?

“The soul of a damned in exchange for the life of a broken.

“It only seems fair.”

_Click._

Saving the new entry to his iPad, Keith numbly rose from his cot, a destination already in mind. 

 

**Room 233**

He lay in the same position as before - unmoving and as silent as the dead of night. His bandaged wrists had been replaced an hour prior to Keith’s visit, so the vibrant red stains on the stark white cloth had vanished. His tan skin looked smooth to the touch, but there were tear streaks smudged into his cheeks. Keith wondered how long Lance had been crying.

“Hey,” He said softly, the heaviness of his own breath surprising even him, “Did you finish your Butterfingers?”

No response. 

Lance sat, eyes downcast, gazing absentmindedly into the sheets that covered his long legs. 

“What about the Mini Oreos? Did you get to eat those?”

This time, Lance moved, though it wasn’t to meet Keith’s eyes, or even look in his direction. Slowly rolling over to his side, Lance turned his back to Keith, obscuring his face from view. He folded in on himself, curling up in a fetal position, as if Keith was about to attack him.

That thought made Keith frown.

“Well, if you’re not talking, then I guess I will.” Keith took a deep breath, tucking his legs up to his chest on the end of Lance’s cot. He wasn’t sure what to say, exactly. He couldn’t ask questions, he would only be met with silence. Perhaps he could tell a story? Thinking back on a fond memory, Keith allowed it to slip through his lips before he could change his mind. “A few years ago, my friend and I snuck into the cafeteria late at night because we weren’t given two Fruit-by-the-Foot's at lunch that day. Mrs. Gentry wasn’t working that day. She’s my favorite. She always gives us extra food. Not the nasty, barf beans or the shitty potatoes - she gave us the good stuff. Capri-Suns, Fruit-by-the-Foot, Nesquik strawberry milk and chocolate chip cookies, right out of the oven. Since she wasn’t there that day, my friend and I had to eat all the gross food like everybody else. We begged Ms. Cock to give us another Go Gurt, but of course, she refused. So, that night, I grabbed Rolo from his room, and we crept through the dark halls, determined to feast like Kings, since the servants didn’t feed us properly.” 

Keith cast a sideways glance at the other boy, hoping he’d catch a glimpse of a smile. He stared at nothing but the back of Lance’s t-shirt. 

Sighing, Keith tried something else. Shifting on the cot, Keith now lay parallel with Lance, his head resting on one side of the pillow as he gazed hopelessly at the ceiling. 

“You don’t talk much, do you?” He asked, and it felt as if he were speaking to nothing but air. Though, to be fair, he wasn’t expecting an answer. 

Keith was about to launch into another story when Shiro walked into the room. 

“Oh- Keith. I wasn’t expecting to find you in here,” He said, a bit surprised, “What are you up to?”

Keith propped himself up on his elbows, giving his brother figure a curt shrug. “Just chillin’,” he said as casually as possible. “I was just asking Lance if he liked the Butterfingers I got him.”

“And? Did he?” Shiro asked, smiling softly as he started checking all the monitors in the room, keeping track of Lance’s vitals. 

“I’m pretty sure he thinks they were so good, he won’t even open his mouth because he wants to savor them so much.”

Shiro gave a lighthearted chuckle, scribbling down a brief note on his clipboard. “Is that so?”

“Mh-hm.”

“Well then maybe you should go get him some more, huh?” Shiro asked, “And while you’re out, I’ll go through the daily procedure check.”

Keith nodded, “Okay Shiro. But- then, can I go see Allura?”

Shiro’s features knit into that of a wounded animal. Keith was very much aware of the stress Allura’s condition had on Shiro, but Keith loved speaking to the Princess. She always told the best stories, and when Keith was in her room, he could worry about the problems of characters that didn’t exist. He could take a break from the painful reality, and step into fantasy. 

Everyone thought Allura was crazy - delusional, even. 

Shiro himself thought the woman had gone insane. Everyone said that she spoke nothing but gibberish and nonsense, but Keith loved it. She was so passionate about everything; about her fantasy world, her mythological creatures and her devastating past. 

“I don’t know, Keith,” Shiro said uncertainly, “Maybe it’d be better if you hung out with Katie and Hunk. Find some friends that are your same age.”

Keith raised an eyebrow at his brother. “But I want to see Allura.”

Shiro shared a concerned look with the younger boy. “I’m worried, Keith. I’m worried that, maybe, you’re spending too much time around her-”

“But Allura is amazing!” Keith objected, “She always tells the best stories. I want to know what happens to the Lions. And Alfor, the king.”

Shiro sighed in defeat. “Fine. I’m giving you an hour - no more than that.”

“Yes!” Keith hurried out the door of Lance’s room, remembering to stop by a vending machine to buy some more snacks for the other boy. After dropping off three more Butterfingers, some Baked Lays and a pack of chewing gum, Keith made his way to Allura’s room. 

**Room 109**

“Ahh, there’s the Red Lion’s brave paladin,” Allura spoke in her smooth, British accent. 

Keith had remembered the day Allura so graciously bestowed that title upon him, and Keith was more than honored to be known to her as one of the 5 chosen heroes in her tales. 

Keith bowed respectfully. “And here you are, Princess Allura, ruler of Altea and Captain of the Castle of Lions.”

Allura waved a hand modestly. “Oh, no need to be so proper, Keith. How is my paladin faring on this fine day?”

Whenever Keith stepped into Allura’s room, he found it hard not to smile. Today was no exception. In fact, his grin was wider than ever.

“Well, I stopped by to see a newer patient today. His name is Lance,” Keith informed. 

Allura hummed thoughtfully. “Lance, huh? Sounds promising. Tell me about this new friend of yours.”

“Well- I wouldn’t say _friend._ He hasn’t even spoken to me in the few days he’s been here. But I told him a silly story this morning, and got him some Butterfingers to snack on. He likes Butterfingers.”

“I see,” Allura said with a smile, “You speak rather fondly of him. Could this _Lance_ boy be the Prince you’ve been dreaming of?” There was a hopeful smile on her smile, but Keith scrunched up his face in what appeared to be disgust. 

“Eww, no,” Keith said quickly, “I don’t even know him. He’s just . . . another patient. Besides, he’s not-”

“Rolo,” Allura finished, her eyes gleaming with sympathy. She held out her arms in a welcome embrace, and Keith allowed himself to wrap his arms around the woman. Her chocolate dark skin was warm to the touch, and she gently raked her fingers through Keith’s hair. “My apologizes for speaking for his name,” Allura said, a bit nostalgic, “Though wouldn’t you say it’s time to burn the shroud of our old companion, and knit a new one for another worthy hero?”

Keith pulled away from their embrace, not a single tear on either of his cheeks. He had cried one too many times for his past lover. His eyes were nothing but dry. 

“I suppose,” Keith spoke numbly. 

Allura nodded, planting a small kiss on the boy’s forehead. “You’re an outstanding paladin, my young hero. King Alfor would be proud of you.”

At the mention of the king, Keith perked up, remembering the number one reason he wanted to come visit Allura today. 

“The King! You have to tell me what happens to the King!” Keith settled in next to Allura on the cot. He sat comfortably, his thighs brushing against the Princess’s from underneath her blanket. 

Allura chuckled. “Alright, alright, I’ll tell you. 

“Many moons ago-”

“Ten thousand, to be exact,” Keith interjected.

Allura looked at him a bit disapprovingly. “Are you wanted me to tell it, or are you going to recite the whole story yourself?”

“You tell it,” Keith said in between laughs, “I like it when you tell it. Besides, I haven’t even heard the whole thing.”

“That’s because you always make me start from the beginning,” Allura muttered with a sly smile. She tapped her index finger on Keith’s nose, causing him to go cross-eyed for a second. 

She then started again. 

“Many moons ago - Ten thousand, to be exact - a planet rich with vegetation, life, and sorcery was peacefully drifting throughout the universe. It’s exotic inhabitants and flamboyant ways of life were looked upon as unorthodox by neighboring planets, but the Alteans were convinced their ways were superior to those around them. Advanced technology powered by-”

“Balmeran crystals,” Keith added with awe.

Allura nodded in agreement. “Balmeran crystals: An ancient source of power in the form of crystals cultivated by the Balmerans themselves, deep within the tunnels of a living planet. Altea thrived off of these crystals, using them for all their energy and technology. They even acted as batteries for individual Alteans, charging their abilities for more powerful sorcery. 

“Using these crystals to their advantage, the Alteans formed an alliance with the Balmerans. The two agreed on specific conditions, and allowed trade between the two planets. With their mutual bond and prerequisites in place, the pair got along just fine. There were annual celebratory dances between the two species, practiced in order to remember the bond they had formed. Along the Balmerans and Alteans were the Arusians, Olkari, Galra and Taujeerians, all of which were humble, intelligent and magnificent species-”

“Until . . .” Keith edged closer to the princess, waiting anxiously for the part where the Galra empire burn their peace treaty and turn their backs on the 5 remaining alliances. 

Allura smiled, rather mischievously. 

“Everything was peaceful between the six species, until the Galra became hungry for more power. The Black Lion’s paladin - Zarkon himself - lead the ambush. He betrayed and abandoned all other planets, planning to reign terror and wreak havoc across the entire universe. 

“Zarkon became one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy.”

Keith leaped up to his feet, raising his arm as if brandishing a sword. “But he can’t beat Voltron! Voltron is the most powerful weapon in the universe! No one can defeat Voltron, not even Zarkon and his dumb empire-”

“Ahh. but the Galra weren’t dumb, Keith.” There was a tone in Allura’s voice that Keith hadn’t heard before. It sounded like sadness, but also anger and defeat. “In fact, they outsmarted us in every way possible.”

Her voice started to shake, and her eyes grew wider. 

“The Galra-” She glared down at her hands, which were now trembling in her lap as they gripped the sheets so tight her dark knuckles turned white. “-they . . . The Galra. They killed us all. They-” Allura’s breathing became ragged and dangerous. She seemed to be curling in on herself - trying to hide from some invisible force in the room. 

“Allura . . . ?” Keith spoke with concern. 

This sort of thing had happened before. Allura would panic. She would start screaming and crying.

Everyone said it was because she was delusional. They said she made up these stories to help her cope with what happened to her. It was a lie, to hide the tragedy that was her childhood.

Keith knew that it was because she had suffered. She was in pain, and sometimes she just needed to cry.

“Hey,” Keith said gently, dropping down to his knees on the cot. He placed a hand on Allura's shoulder, cautiously. 

However, it wasn’t cautious enough. 

“GET BACK!” Allura shrieked, tears threatening to fall from her polished, lake blue eyes. “STAY AWAY FROM ME! YOU- YOU KILLED HIM! YOU KILLED MY FATHER-”

“No,” Keith whispered, shaking his head back and forth in earnest. “No, I didn’t. Allura, it’s me. Keith. I’m your friend-” 

Allura shoved him away, her eyes wild, her pupils blown with fear. 

Keith needed to get Shiro. 

“I SAID STAY AWAY FROM ME!” Allura screamed. 

Keith scrambled toward the door, panic pricking his enlarged heart. 

This had happened before, yes. 

But it had never been this bad. 

Usually, Keith could calm her down with a couple strokes to her hair and a few gently spoken words.

This time, when he had tried to touch her, she attacked. 

“YOU KILLED HIM! YOU KILLED THEM ALL!” Allura sprung from her cot, saliva spraying from her mouth as she screamed. “GO TO HELL YOU MURDEROUS BASTARD!”

“Allura PLEASE!” Keith shouted back, tears forming in his eyes. “I know you’re hurt- You’re in pain- something bad happened to you, I know!”

Allura stepped closer, a dangerous gleam in her eyes. 

The stance that Allura was holding reminded Keith of a panther ready to pounce on her prey, or a mama bear defending her cub. She looked like a wild animal. 

“Allura . . . please-”

“YOU’LL PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID!” Allura leaped forwards, and before Keith knew it, strong arms were wrapped around his frail body, yanking him into the air. 

Keith started screaming. 

He thrashed out, kicking and clawing at the arms that held him. “LET ME GO, PLEASE!”

“Keith.”

It was Shiro’s voice. Strong and confident. 

The click of a door closing could be heard, and Keith opened his eyes to see himself in the hallway, wrapped in Shiro’s embrace. 

“Keith, you’re safe. You’re okay.”

A silent sob rose up in Keith’s throat, and he clutched onto Shiro’s white coat. 

He was in the hall. He was safe.

“A-Allura,” He stuttered, “Is she . . . is she okay?”

Shiro sighed, holding Keith closer to himself. “She’ll be fine, Keith. But . . . I don’t want you seeing her anymore. She’s not stable-”

Keith backed away from his brother. “She’s in _pain,_ Shiro! She’s hurt, I have to be there for her-”

“No,” Shiro said strictly, “I won’t allow that. You are to stay in your room. You are only allowed to visit Lance, Hunk, and Katie. I don’t want you in Allura’s room anymore, it’s not safe. Until we can come up with some way to-”

“Some way to _what,_ Shiro? _Cure her?!_ How the hell are you going to do that?!”

“I don’t know yet, but we’re trying-”

“You’re trying, huh?” Keith let out a pathetic laugh. “Well I guess if you’re trying, then it’s all going to be okay, right? As long as you tried, it’s fine. As long as you tried, you can’t take the blame, RIGHT?” 

Shiro took on a dangerous tone. “Keith, where are you going with this?”

“You know _exactly_ what I’m talking about!” Keith yelled, tears spilling over his eyelids. “But I guess it’s _fine._ You don’t have to remember. You can forget, because _at least you tried._ But just how hard are you trying, Shiro? How hard are you trying to save her? Because the last time you said you tried, I was staring at Rolo’s dead body!”

Shiro flinched like Keith had just struck him across the face. 

Keith didn’t care. 

He stomped down the hallway, hurrying to the elevator, where he could close the doors, and no one would see him cry. 

He hid himself, sobbing into the sleeves of his sweatshirt and screaming. 

He shook with every tear that fell. 

He had lost Rolo. 

He might as well have lost Allura now, too.


	6. Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry about the super long wait! This chapter isn't that long, so I apologize about that, too. Though I do hope you enjoy it, and I can't wait to read all your comments! Feel free to point out mistakes, typos, etc.

**April 10, 2017**

**Garrison Hospital**

**Cafeteria**

Three days later, and the soreness of Keith’s eyes finally subsided. 

He sat now, mentally elsewhere, in the hospital cafeteria. Positioned on his left was Hunk Garett, and to Hunk’s left, was Katie Holt - better known as ‘Pidge.’

Keith hadn’t touched any of his lunch yet, too distracted by everyone else scuttling about. He barely managed to make it through the lunch line without allowing his weary eyes to slip closed, and now he was trying to fight off his fatigue at the round table they shared together. Forcing Keith to sit with Hunk and Pidge was Shiro’s way of ‘helping him make new friends,’ but so far, it was getting Keith absolutely nowhere. He still spoke to no one, he still disregarded most of his food, and he still internally complained about the smell.

The smell of the cafeteria seemed to be constantly changing. Just yesterday, it smelt of cheesy potatoes and refried beans. Today, it reeked of ketchup, mustard and burnt meat, with the addition of old people who were incapable of washing themselves. Crinkling his nose in disgust, he stared down at his revolting hot dog, complete with a spurt of relish and half soaked from the watermelon that covered a portion of his tray. 

Ms. Cock was definitely cooking today. 

Sighing, Keith was just about to stand to throw away the meal when Shay Anamani came skipping over to their table, a tray in hand and a smile adorning her face. 

“Evening, everyone!” She greeted, sliding into the seat across from Hunk, who’s cheeks were now redder than the ketchup smeared across Pidge’s face. “How has your day been so far?”

Keith tried not to roll his eyes. 

Shay was a very positive volunteer at the hospital - always smiling at the patients, greeting newcomers warmly, and always focusing on the good in the world. Shay was the type of person you could beat up in an alleyway, and she would apologize the very next day, wondering what she did wrong, and worrying if she had hurt your feelings somehow. 

In Keith’s opinion, she was just another one of those overly optimistic people that really tended to piss him off. 

“It’s great!” Pidge responded to the Samoan. She was grinning from ear to ear, the smudge of ketchup making it look like she had grown a beard, and forgot to shave half of it this morning. 

“That’s wonderful to hear!” Shay said, eyeing Pidge’s ketchup beard like she was tempted to wipe it off. Her gaze then shifted to Hunk. “And you, Hunk? How’s your day?”

The chubby Hawaiian blushed into his hands, speaking shyly. “It . . . it’s been good. Yours?”

Shay looked delighted to have been asked a question. “It’s been marvelous! I talked to Doctor Thace this morning, and he said that there’s been a lot of progress on one of the newer patients. Lewis, I think it was.” She paused. “No, Laurence.” 

“Lance,” Keith mumbled, to himself. 

“Lance, that’s right-” Shay continued, “They say he’s been eating more recently, and he’s recovering from all the blood loss. Also, Mrs. Gentry is coming back this weekend from her trip to Florida. We’ve got a lot to look forward to! Maybe Lance will eventually sit with us at lunch. Then we could have a new member in our exclusive club.”

Keith raised an eyebrow, and when Pidge saw the gesture, she waved a hand at him dismissively. 

“Oh, don’t give us that look,” She said, “Yes. We have a club. Don’t bother asking. Besides, you’re only sitting with us because your brother thinks you’re pathetic and wants you to make new friends.”

“Pidge-” Hunk scolded. The two of them began to banter back and forth while Shay laughed uneasily. She was probably about to apologize to Keith on Pidge’s behalf, but Keith didn’t want to hear it. Katie was right, anyway. He was only sitting with them to ease Shiro's conscious. He didn’t want his brother worrying about his non-existent social life, so he pretended to be friends with Pidge, Hunk, and Shay. 

Blocking out their conversation, Keith glanced around the cafeteria, his eyes pausing when they took in the sight of Lance. He was sitting alone, by one of the windows. There was a tray of food in front of him, but it was untouched. His eyes were motionless, like a stilled lake with no life underneath to disturb the surface. They stared outside, into nothing but sunlight and grass. 

Before Keith knew it, he was walking toward Lance, his own food untouched and forgotten.

Sliding into the seat across from the younger boy, Keith swallowed. 

He wasn’t ever sure what to say when he was with Lance. This was the first time he had seen the Cuban outside of his room, and here, in the cafeteria, there were a lot more faces. A lot more eyes. More people watching. 

“Umm . . .” Keith started, “I heard that Mrs. Gentry is going to be coming back soon. I kind of told you about her, before. She’s the really cool one that gives me extra junk food.”

Keith’s eyes were focused on his own lap. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt that if he looked directly at Lance, he would somehow be invading the boy’s privacy even more than he already was. 

“So, you won’t have to eat this disgusting shit anymore. I mean - not that you are anyway.” Keith sighed. Had he always been this bad at talking to people? 

After a minute of listening to nothing but the clatter of other people’s trays and utensils, Keith tried a different approach.

“I never know how to talk to you, so . . . I’m just going to talk to myself. I tend to do that a lot, actually. Although it’s not really to myself, I speak to my iPad. I mean, well . . . I keep voice entries in my iPad, rather than writing them down in a journal. Shiro says it’s because I like to hear myself talk, but that’s bullshit. I really just do it because . . .” Keith paused, inspecting his skinny fingers and small nails. “Well, I’m not really sure why I do it. I just find it so much easier to talk to myself about the way I’m feeling, rather than someone else, who doesn’t understand. 

“Because I feel like I’m the only person who _would_ understand. I’m the only one who's lived my life. I’m the only one who’s walked down every path just to get to this road. I’m the only one who knows exactly how I’m feeling. So . . . I tell myself how I feel. And I listen to myself. Because . . . I don’t really have anyone else. I’m my own therapist, in a way. I’m independent, and . . . alone.” By now, Keith wasn’t really staring at anything, just sitting. Talking. The way he does when he speaks into his electronic journal. He spoke in a way he never would, had he been surrounded by people. He spoke as if he were alone. 

“My brother thinks I need to be surrounded by people; friends, he calls them. I’m not sure what I can even classify as a ‘friend,’ though. Are friends people who tell each other secrets, start clubs, and come up with inside jokes? Are they just people you walk down the halls with, and laugh? Are they people you call on the weekends, and ask if they want to go swimming? Or are friends people you can actually trust? People you can depend on, when things get tough? People you can hold onto when you feel like you’re slipping away? People you can tell everything to, like . . . like how your parents left you when you were just an infant, because they didn't’ want to deal with the problems they knew you’d bring into the home? Like how the one person you loved the most - the person you wanted to wake up next to, and hold their hand - the one person on the planet you cared about more than yourself . . . died. Like how you never knew your mother and father, you have no idea if you have any siblings, and you can’t say for sure if someone out there actually loves you. Like how you’ve been raised in a fucking hospital your whole life, not knowing when you can leave, not knowing how many more people are going to leave, or die. Like how you try so desperately to fit in, but you’ll always just be that kid who talks to himself, believes the crazy woman’s stories, and is never accepted into a real group, or family. 

“Is a friend someone you can tell those sorts of things to? If so, I feel like my only friend . . . is just an iPad with a stupid blank cover, and weird galaxy backgrounds.

“If that’s what a friend is . . . I don’t think I have any.”

Keith hadn’t realized he had been crying, until a tan hand rested atop his own, dotted with tears. 

His gaze trailed up the long, tan forearm covered in bandages, then over the sickly thin shoulders, up to a pair of the bluest eyes Keith had ever seen. They were crinkled, from the small smile spread over Lance’s lips. 

And a single word slipped from his mouth, igniting any unwanted Hope in Keith’s heart.

“Friends.”

 

**Room 302**

“Friends.

“That’s what he said. To _me._

“I’m not sure what to make of this. Is Lance . . . my _friend_ now? But- I don’t have any friends, I don’t _need_ any friends - especially ones who are suicidal, and could vanish into ash at any given moment. I don’t need this. I don’t need any of this.

“And yet . . . I think I want it.

“Which is ridiculous, because I know he’s just going to disappear one day. Although . . . haven’t I already vowed to give him everything? Did that include my friendship as well?

“When I promised I’d save his life, in exchange for mine -when I said that I would give up anything and everything just so that he could take my place, my heart, and my life - did that also mean giving up my vow to seclude myself from possible acquaintances? Did that mean . . . I actually have to hold on to one more person, before I finally die?

“Either way, I suppose I’ve already made up my mind. I’ve already decided to give him everything, including my sanity. 

“So, I’m saying goodbye tonight. I’m letting go of the strings that have been attaching me so loosely to the world. I’m letting go of all of them . . . but one. 

“Lance.

“I’ll hold onto him until the Fates decide it’s time to snip the string, and send me crashing down into oblivion. I’ll hold on as tight as I can. And I won’t let go.”

_Click._

Keith had retreated to his room for the day just a minute after Lance had spoken for the first time since arriving at the Garrison Hospital. The two of them had sat, in silence, for nearly thirty seconds before Lance had raised a smooth, tan hand to Keith’s cheek, wiping away a tear that had fallen seconds before. 

After such an intimate gesture, Keith panicked. Quickly excusing himself from the table, Keith had hurried to his room, embarrassed to have cried in front of everyone in the cafeteria. 

Now he lay, staring at the ceiling of his room, on his cot. He wanted to fall asleep. Let the fatigue of the last few restless nights finally catch up to him. Yet he could already see a beautiful masterpiece in his mind that went along so fitfully with his most recent entry, and it would be a shame to fall asleep now, then have no recollection of the artwork once he awoke. 

Curling his pale, skinny fingers around his iPad, Keith plucked the stylus from its respective slot, and began scribbling neatly onto the screen. 

He drew a hand - his hand, gripping a tiny thread so tightly that blood had begun trailing down his wrist where the string was cutting into his skin. The hand was bright and pale, contrasting against the bitter blues in the background, and the swirls of darkness teasing the corners. 

Above the hand, Keith carved his words into the backdrop.

“I’LL HOLD ONTO HIM UNTIL THE FATES DECIDE IT’S TIME TO SNIP THE STRING, AND SEND ME CRASHING DOWN INTO OBLIVION”, then, to the left of the bleeding, battered hand, he wrote, “I’LL HOLD ON AS TIGHT AS I CAN. AND”, finishing the last sentence with black trailing across his wrist, like a tattoo, Keith wrote, “I WON’T LET GO”

It wasn’t even five o’clock yet when he had finished, but Keith dropped the cover over the screen, plugged the iPad in for the night, and grabbed a pen from his nightstand. Using his mouth to uncap the pen, Keith held out his left hand to write “I WON’T LET GO” on his wrist, just like in his drawing. 

Once satisfied, he then settled down in his cot after stripping down to his plain black briefs. 

Lying there, in the fading light of dusk, Keith tightened the blankets around his bare shoulders to keep warm during the night. 

For a few more minutes, while it was still impossible to drift off into sleep, Keith found himself tracing the letters he had written so delicately on his wrist. 

He wondered, for a moment, why Lance seemed so different from the rest of the patients. 

He wondered why he felt so compelled to save this boy’s life. 

“I’ll hold on and tight as I can,” Keith whispered into the empty room, “And I won’t let go of you, Lance.”


	7. Dreams versus Reality

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter includes self harm, and hints of suicidal thoughts.

**April 11, 2017**

**Garrison Hospital**

**Room 302**

Blood. 

_So much blood._

It was dripping down the stained walls of his room - _Rolo’s_ room. 

It was seeping through the sheets of his bed, soaking into his stark white hair, turning it pink. 

It was slithering across the floor, reaching towards Keith, as if stretching toward any signs of life. 

It was pooling into the cracks of the tiles and wetting Keith’s socks. 

There was so much blood. 

Too much blood. 

There was too much.

Keith panted, eyes flitting about the room, looking for Shiro - for Thace - for _anyone._

But he was alone. Again.

Alone in this godforsaken room. Alone with his lover, dead on the cot. 

Taking a cautious step forward, Keith peered over the metal railings to see Rolo’s face. 

There was blood flowing mercilessly out of his eyes, staining his pale cheeks and splattering onto the pillow below. 

Keith was crying. 

He had seen this before. 

This was just another one of those recurring nightmares that haunted him in his sleep. 

He knew it wasn’t real, and yet . . . the pain that came with it was. 

He cried, throwing his arms around Rolo’s lifeless body. He cried, letting his tears mix with the blood. He cried, wishing so much that he could go back and save him somehow. 

Every time he had this dream, Keith would run. He ran down the halls of the hospital, slipping and tumbling through the pools of blood that coated the floor as he shouted out for help. He would run, screaming for Shiro to come save him. He would run, chest heaving until his heart couldn’t handle the pain - until he collapsed into a scarlet river, and didn’t get up. 

Then he would wake, with a new burst of heartache and a reminder of just how much he missed his old friend. 

But tonight was different. 

Tonight, he didn’t run. 

He stayed, and he cried. 

“I’m so sorry . . .” Keith’s voice cracked. He was gripping onto Rolo’s shirt, soaked with the boy’s blood. “I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry . . .”

There was a slight tug on Keith’s arm, and when he looked up, he wasn’t staring at Rolo. 

He was staring at Lance. 

Lance was holding onto Keith’s arm, too tightly to be taken as a supportive gesture. 

He was staring at him, blue eyes boring into Keith’s. 

And he looked like he was talking, but no words were coming out of his mouth. 

“What?” Keith asked, frantic to hear what the boy had to say, “What is it? Tell me! PLEASE! Just tell me! I- I can’t lose you, too . . .” His tears fell faster, and still, he couldn’t hear anything Lance was trying to say. “Please, Lance, you have to tell me . . . I have to help you!”

“Friends,” Lance finally spoke. 

“I know that already!” Keith shouted, growing frustrated. “I know, just TELL ME HOW I CAN HELP YOU!”

“Friends,” Lance repeated. 

Keith sighed, exasperated. “But is that supposed to be enough?” He said, more to himself than to Lance. “Is that supposed to make you stay?”

“Friends.”

Keith shook his head. “It’s not that easy-”

“Friends.”

“That can’t be enough! I- I have to do something more!” Tears slid down Keith’s cheeks as he stared into Lance’s dry, doll-like eyes. “There has to be something else I can do to help you. Please, just tell me, damn it!”

“Friends,” Lance said again, like he was in some sort of trance. 

“You idiot!” Keith shouted, “It’s not that simple! Don’t you see?! It’s never that easy! If it were, no one would be dead! Rolo would still be here, Pidge wouldn’t have to leave, and everyone would be happy! It’s not that fucking simple, Lance! JUST TELL ME WHAT I HAVE TO DO!”

“Friends.”

Keith growled. “I’m so sick of this! I HATE THIS! I HATE NOT KNOWING HOW TO HELP YOU! WHY CAN’T YOU JUST TELL ME! I’m trying to help you, damn it, just-” Keith’s voice broke, “Why won’t you let me help you?”

Lance’s long, tan fingers grazed across Keith’s tear-streaked cheek, and Keith raised his eyes just enough to see Lance’s mouth twist into a smile. 

“Friends.”

Keith gripped Lance’s hand that cradled his face, letting the tears fall faster. 

“I wish it was that easy . . .”

 

**Room 233**

When Keith walked into Lance’s room that morning, the Cuban was alone. 

He was lying down on his cot, motionless. Keith assumed he was still asleep (it was pretty early. Keith had sprung awake in the middle of the night, and couldn’t fall asleep again. Around 5:00, he pulled on a sweatshirt and jeans and decided to go check on Lance). 

He had situated himself on the guest chair, to Lance’s left, farthest from the door. Curling up in a tight ball, Keith hugged his knees to his chest and silently watched the slow rise and fall of Lance’s body. It was dark in the room. The only light came from the digital clock on the nightstand, casting a red hue onto the walls and furniture. 

He had brought his iPad with him, just in case he wanted to work on another artwork for his vocal entries. As Keith sat, he considered tugging it out of his sweatshirt and drawing, but then he heard Lance’s breath become more erratic and strange. 

Quirking an eyebrow upward, Keith settled his gaze on Lance’s body, which was now shivering violently. 

“Lance . . . ?” Keith called out into the dark. 

The boy gasped, sounding like he was in pain. 

“Lance?!” Keith repeated. He stood from his place on the chair, pulling out his iPad to set it on the cushion before hurrying to Lance’s side.

“Why- why are you here?’ Lance rasped, “You . . . you weren’t supposed to be here-”

He sounded like he was crying.

“Lance, hey-” Keith placed a hand on Lance’s shoulder, feeling something warm and wet.

Lance flinched away. “Go,” he said, “Leave!”

“Wha-” Keith quickly flipped on the lamp set on the nightstand, illuminating the room in fluorescent light. 

Lance was already burying himself in the sheets. “LEAVE!” He shouted. 

And all Keith could do was stare down at his hand, the one he had rested on Lance’s shoulder. 

It was covered in blood.

Raising his eyes to Lance’s form, he saw that the sheets were also stained red. 

“L-Lance-” Keith’s voice wavered. 

“I said LEAVE!” Lance cried, “You . . . you weren’t supposed to see this-”

“Lance, what did you do?” Keith asked, his hands beginning to shake from fright. 

“LEAVE!” Lance shouted again. 

“No!” Keith yelled back, lurching forward to grip the sheets. He yanked them off Lance, trying to see where the blood was coming from - where Lance had hurt himself. 

What he found was horrific. 

Lance’s fist was clamped around one of the plastic cafeteria knives. It was coated in scarlet liquid, with clumps of skin wedged in between the divots along the edge of the utensil. 

His shoulder looked shredded beyond repair, no doubt infected, and the nails of his other hand were just as gruesome, if not more, than the plastic knife. One of the bandages along his forearm had been torn open, along with the scar underneath. 

Keith’s hands instinctively rose to his mouth, but when he smelled the iron of Lance’s blood on his fingers, he gagged. 

“L-Lance . . .”

“LEAVE ME!” 

Keith shook his head, unable to tear his eyes away from all the blood. The tears. The pain. 

“SHIRO!” He shrieked, pivoting around to sprint out the door. 

Before he made it two steps, Lance had snatched onto Keith’s sweatshirt. 

“No, please!” Lance pleaded. 

Keith turned to shove him away. He needed to get help. NOW. He needed to find Shiro, or Thace. 

Because this wasn’t a dream. 

Lance was still alive. For now. And Keith had to keep it that way. 

Lance held him taut, keeping Keith in place while he struggled to run for aid. 

“Please, Keith!” Lance yelped, “Just let me go! Just let me leave, please!”

Keith shook his head, trying harder to tear himself out of Lance’s grip. He was a lot stronger than he looked. “I can’t-” Keith cried, “I need to get help, I need to help you-”

“I DON’T WANT HELP!” Lance shouted, collapsing to the ground in a bloody heap. Without Lance holding him back, Keith lurched forward, slamming into the door. He was seconds away from flinging it open and sprinting down the hall to find Shiro when he looked back at Lance. 

Tears slipping down his face. 

Begging. 

Bleeding out. 

Dying. 

“Please, I just want to leave,” Lance sobbed, his hands raking through his dark hair so tightly it looked like he was about to rip off his own scalp. “I hate this place. I hate being here. I just want to leave-”

Keith swallowed, panting. 

He could feel his heart swelling unhealthily, and knew that if he didn’t get help for Lance and calm himself down, Lance wouldn’t be the only one lying on the floor in excruciating pain.

“I’m sorry,” Keith whispered, “But I have to do this. I have to save you. I . . . I want to save you, Lance. Because . . . we’re friends now.”

Lance’s eyes slowly lifted to meet Keith’s, but if he was thinking anything, he didn’t voice it. 

After giving him one more concerned, and caring look, Keith disappeared from the room. He sprinted down the hall, searching for any of the doctors or nurses. It wasn’t long before he ran into Doctor Thace. 

“Whoa, Keith-” He had said, “You know you shouldn’t be running. You heart can’t handle so much physical exertion. And- what are you doing up already? It’s only-” he checked his watch, “-5:32-”

Keith took a deep breath, grabbing onto Thace’s coat without much of an explanation other than, “Lance.”

“Wait, what?” Thace asked, following Keith down the hall with more meaning now. 

“Lance,” Keith repeated, “He needs help - NOW.”

Thace nodded, sending an urgent message to Shiro through his communication device.

Keith was right behind Thace, about to follow him inside Lance’s room when he was instructed to stay out in the hall. 

Keith didn’t even bother arguing. 

Instead, he sat on the cold tiles of the hospital floor, curled into a ball, eyes focused on nothing but the specks of black and white swirling in his vision. 

He took deep breaths, hand pressing on his chest, over his enlarged heart. 

He tried to calm himself down, to take deep breaths, count to ten, twenty, forty, and a hundred. 

He lost count around 460, so instead, he popped his knuckles and trailed his gaze over the tiles of the ceiling. 

He sat there for what seemed like hours, worried about his new friend, and wondering what could possibly be taking them so long behind the door to **Room 233**.


	8. Unanswered Questions

**April 11, 2017**  
   
Garrison Hospital  
   
Room 233  
   
“How is he?” Keith asked earnestly when he heard the _click_ of the door just a few feet in front of him, then saw Shiro’s shoes stepping out of the room. When he looked up, he saw the concern on Shiro’s face, and instead of answering Keith’s question, he asked his own.  
   
“What- what happened?”  
   
Keith’s eyes fell to his lap, remembering the events of just hours prior.  
   
“I couldn’t sleep,” He began to explain, “I had another nightmare. When I woke up, I laid in bed for a few hours before deciding to check on Lance. I was worried. When I got here . . .” Keith shook his head. “I thought he was asleep. But- I heard him breathing, and . . . he was shivering. He was hurt, and when I pulled the covers off him, there was . . . blood.” Keith tucked his knees in closer to his chest, wishing he could merge into the wall and disappear. “There was a lot of blood. So . . . so I ran. I found Thace. Lance, he- he was holding a cafeteria knife. He used it to scrape up his shoulder, and his nails, too. He . . . he was hurting.”  
   
Shiro knelt down next to Keith, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.  
   
“I’m sorry you had to see that. You said you had another nightmare?”  
   
Keith nodded mutely.  
   
Shiro sighed. A sympathetic sigh. And Keith knew what was coming next.  
   
The I-understand-what-that’s-like-and-I-can-relate-to-you-more-than-you-think talk.  
   
“I understand what that’s like, Keith,” Shiro said, his grip tightening protectively on Keith’s shoulder, “I’ve had nightmares, too. They’re awful, and I wish you didn’t have endure them the way you are. I-” Shiro paused, then took a seat next to his brother. “I wish you would talk to me about them. All you ever do is talk to your iPad, and draw pictures. Keith, I know you think you’re alone. I know you think that this is a battle you’re facing all on your own, and that all the odds are against you. I know you think you don’t have any allies, but . . . I can relate to you more than you think. I’m here for you, Keith. Not just as a Doctor with experience in the medical field. I’m here as your brother. You can talk to me. Please don’t feel like you can’t. Sometimes we need more than a blank screen and a record button.”  
   
“I know,” Keith said, already filing Shiro’s words into his mental Trash bin. He had heard this before, he didn’t need to hear it again.  
   
“As long as you know,” Shiro said.  
   
“You never answered my question,” Keith said, a bit impatient to hear how Lance was doing. “How is he?”  
   
Shiro let out a small breath, and Keith tried to analyze any hidden messages that may have been relayed in the single exhale.  
   
All he got was _It’s complicated right now._  
   
“We’re still trying to decide. He lost a lot of blood, but he’s recovering. From now on, we’ll have to keep him on watch nearly 24/7. We can’t have anything like that happening again - it could cost him his life-”  
   
“Wasn’t that the point, though?”  
   
“Keith-”  
   
“Wasn’t it?” Keith pressed, keeping his eyes on his dirty socks. He didn’t want to look Shiro in the eyes right now.  
   
“Keith,” Shiro repeated, “You worry me when you talk like that-”  
   
“I thought you wanted me to talk to you,” Keith snapped back, finally raising his gaze to his brother. “I thought you wanted me to express myself to you, and not just some lousy iPad Pro that’s kept me going for so long.”  
   
Shiro shook his head. “This isn’t what I meant-”  
   
“He told me he wanted to leave,” Keith said, peeling his eyes away from Shiro and back to his own lap. “He begged me to stop. He didn’t want me to get help. I . . . I didn’t listen to him.”  
   
“Hey,” Shiro said, trying to be comforting, “You did the right thing-”  
   
“Did I?” Keith wondered, more to himself than his brother, “Did I really?”  
   
“You saved his life-”  
   
“By forcing him to live in pain and agony for God knows how long.”  
   
“Keith, please-”  
   
“You didn’t see his face, Shiro,” Keith said, and now there were tears brimming in his eyes. He would never be able to forget the way Lance’s eyes shone up at him, with so much hidden fear and pain. He would never be able to forget the way Lance’s eyes pleaded with him to stay, to let him disappear. He would never be able to forget the way Lance looked, bleeding and helpless on the floor, begging Keith to just let go of him. “He said he hated this place. He hated being here. He said he just wanted to leave. Did I really do the right thing, making him stay here on this Godforsaken planet?” By now, Keith’s vision was getting blurry, but he blinked away the tears. “This whole situation is fucked up beyond reason. I feel like shit.” Keith laughed off his worries as a tear slipped, unbidden, from his left eye.  
   
When Shiro spoke again, Keith was surprised when Shiro didn’t scold him for using vulgar language, like he usually did.  
   
“It really is,” He agreed, “but if we sit here and mope about it, nothing’s going to change, is it? We have to do something.”  
   
Keith pretended to ponder his brother’s words.  
   
Then he asked, “Can I see him?”  
   
The sound of Shiro’s coat brushing against his skin suggested he was shaking his head. “Sorry, but not right now. He’s still in pretty bad shape, even if he is better than he was a few hours ago. Why don’t you go get breakfast with Katie and the others, then we’ll see.”  
   
Keith nodded solemnly. “Alright,” He agreed finally.  
   
As he was rising to his feet, brushing away the last of his tears, Keith shoved his hands in his pockets, planning to go back to his room, just to grab some shoes before heading to the cafeteria.  
   
“Shiro?” Keith called, after taking just a few steps toward the elevator.  
   
“Yeah?” His brother asked while getting up.  
   
“Umm . . . has Lance’s family visited yet?”  
   
Shrio’s usual, soft smile fell.  
   
“No. Not yet.”  
   
Keith inhaled sharply. “Do you think . . . they ever will? Or . . . do you think, he even _has_ a family? What if . . . what if he’s alone?”  
   
Shiro’s lips then curved into a smile - but it was strained.  
   
“All we know is that his family lives in Cuba. We don’t know what he’s doing in Louisiana, or why he’s alone. We’ve tried contacting his family, but haven’t been able to reach them yet. For all we know, they might not even be aware that Lance is in the hospital. When we found him, he was lying on the Lake Charles bridge, bleeding out. It was a stranger who called 911. She saw him near the edge of the bridge and pulled over, wondering if he was lost and needed help. She didn’t even know him. She couldn’t see the blood until she was feet away - it was dark out. She wasn’t able to provide much information, just that Lance was already in serious condition, and looked like he was going to jump. Other than that . . . we don’t really know anything. I’m sorry.”  
   
Keith nodded, a part of him wondering if he could find this woman and ask her questions about what happened that night. The other part of him knew that Shiro and the other doctors would never allow him to speak with her about such serious events. For now, he’d have to stay in the dark.  
   
Maybe it was better that way - not knowing.  
   
Then, he wouldn’t have to be mad at a family he didn’t even know for not coming to visit their dying son and brother. He wouldn’t have to blame every other person on that bridge, that drove past a jumper without a second glance.  
   
“Okay,” He said numbly.  
   
“And, Keith?” Shiro called out to his brother.  
   
“Yeah?”  
   
“If you wouldn’t mind . . . would you try to spend some more time with Lance? I hate putting you on the spot like this, but we’d all appreciate it if you could fill in some of those bonds that his family have been neglecting.”  
   
Keith nodded. “Sure.”  
   
“Thank you,” Shiro said. Then, “Enjoy breakfast with your friends.”  
   
Keith nearly huffed at that.  
   
_Friends._  
   
As if they were actually that close. Close enough for him to join their little ‘club,’ and laugh at all the same jokes. As if they actually cared.  
   
   
   
**Cafeteria.**  
   
“Hunk, oh my God, you’re going to get yourself killed!” Pidge said, small bursts of giggles slipping out between her words.  
   
Keith had just gotten in line for breakfast, and hadn’t even sat down at their designated table yet, and still, he could hear Katie from across the entire God damn room.  
   
Stealing a glance over his shoulder as Ms. Cock splattered a chunk of infested-looking oatmeal into his bowl, Keith saw that the big Hawaiian was trying to cram another carrot into his nose. So far, he was at four.  
   
If Keith weren’t so disgusted, he’d actually be impressed.  
   
“Move!” Ms. Cock hollard, unnecessarily loud, wishing for the breakfast line to continue moving forward.  
   
Keith mentally flipped her off before rolling his violet eyes and taking a seat next to his fake friends.  
   
Hunk was now at five.  
   
“Ahh, look,” Pidge announced, “Mr. Grumpy Fuck Pants came to sit with us again. He must be enjoying our little circus act.”  
   
“Right,” Keith said sarcastically, “Nothing like 5 carrots up the nose and an obnoxiously loud bald head to get me through the day.”  
   
Pidge beamed. “We love you too, asshole.”  
   
“Wait. 5 carrots?” A sweet voice sounded from behind Keith. “He broke the record?!”  
   
Turning, Keith saw Shay Anamani with her natural smile and sparkling golden eyes. She was carrying a bowl similar to Keith’s, but instead of regurgitated oatmeal, her’s was filled with Fruit Loops and 2% Milk.  
   
_Stupid volunteers and their stupid sustenance benefits._  
   
Sliding down in the seat next to Hunk, Shay grinned from ear to ear. “Wow, you really did make it to 5! I’m impressed, Hunk.”  
   
Hunk’s cheeks flared an unnatural red, and he snorted out a laugh, causing one of the carrots to shoot out of his nose and into Keith’s oatmeal.  
   
Pidge’s laughs could have been heard from miles away.  
   
“. . . Sorry,” Hunk apologized sheepishly.  
   
Keith sighed as Shay giggled. “It’s fine. I wasn’t planning on eating, anyway. I’m not hungry.”  
   
Even as he was saying it, Keith’s stomach growled, begging for food. .  
   
It had been nearly a week since he’d eaten a proper meal.  
   
He was starving.  
   
“Nonsense,” Shay said, pushing over her bowl of Fruit Loops, “You can have mine. Don’t worry, I haven’t even touched it yet. Besides, they had extra muffins in the back anyway, I’ll just grab one of those. Be right back, Pudding Rebel and Carrot Champ.”  
   
Before Keith could argue, Shay was already walking away from the table happily, toward the kitchen area.  
   
“You better just eat it and be grateful,” Pidge said, “If you don’t, she’ll just feed it to the stray cats in the parking lot.”  
   
“It’s true,” Hunk said, “Wouldn’t be the first time, either.”  
   
Pidge nodded in agreement. “Eat,” She practically commanded.  
   
When Keith’s stomach growled once more, he decided he didn’t need to be told twice.  
   
Scooping spoonfuls of Fruit Loops into his mouth, Keith was silently grateful (for probably the first time ever) that Shay Anamani was such a giving and optimistic person.  
   
After a few more minutes of sitting with the circus freaks, Keith was interrupted when a strong, familiar hand rested on his shoulder.  
   
Shiro.  
   
He was smiling softly. Reassuringly. Hopefully.  
   
“ **Room 233** is open for you.”  
   
Keith’s heart nearly burst out of his chest.  
   
Without a response, Keith was hurrying out of the cafeteria and racing down the hall, using the stairway, too impatient to stand around in an elevator for seconds he didn’t want to waste.  
   
When he finally got to Lance’s room, he saw that was door was open.  
   
“Lance, hey!” He called inside, brushing past the doorway, “How are you feeli-” Keith’s voice stopped abruptly when he saw that the room was vacant.  
   
Heart constricting in his chest from confusion (and his rather impatient burst of speed up the stairs), Keith’s eyes roamed about the empty room, wondering where he could have gone.  
   
Shiro said he was here- No.  
   
He said the room was open for him.  
   
Furrowing his brow, Keith plopped down on the guest chair, only then noticing his iPad lying neatly on Lance’s cot.  
   
There was a blue sticky note on the cover.  
   
A message was written there in sloppy handwriting, reading:  
   
_Friends are people you can tell these sorts of things to._  
   
_You told me your story._  
   
_This is mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked this Chapter! I tried to add a bit of comic relief into this one, and again, Shay is an angel. Love her.


	9. Entry 462

**April 11, 2017**  
   
**Garrison Hospital**  
   
**Room 302**  
   
“I’ve been thinking a lot lately. Which, is actually pretty bad, because . . . every time I think too much, people end up getting hurt. I end up hurting myself. But, well . . . umm, Keith? You don’t have to listen to this. You don’t have to listen to me ramble on about how much I hate my life and how much I wish it would just stop. You don’t have to listen. But . . . you said so yourself, just the other day, that . . . that friends are people you can share these sorts of things with. And . . . we’re friends now? I guess? So . . . I’m telling you this. And . . . if you are listening . . . this is my story.  
   
“Oh, but- if you’re worried that I listened to all your entries, don’t be. I promise I didn’t listen to any of them. And, I actually feel like I’m invading some sort of your privacy right now, even if I didn’t listen to them. I just . . . this is your iPad. And . . . I’m using it without even asking for permission, so . . . I’m sorry? But, I just feel more comfortable talking to myself. I don’t want to have to see your face when you hear this. I thought that- that maybe this would be easier.  
   
“And yet . . . I’m still tripping over every other word.  
   
“But anyway . . .  
   
“. . . I used to love myself, you know.  
   
“I loved everything about me. My life. My family, and my friends. I loved it all. But I guess, one day, it all just stopped being so . . . great? I guess you could trace it back to the day my grandpa died. He was everything to me. He was more of a father than my actual papa, and he made me laugh. I remember once when he bought me a really cool new LEGO set, and we spent an hour building it together. It was that one castle, with the cool blue flags and soldiers. There was even a drawbridge that went up and down. I used to mix up all the people and make my own. Well- I still do that. But, anyway-  
   
“. . . yeah, umm . . . my Grandpa died. He, uh- he had really bad osteoporosis, and- you know, it’s really messed up, because the two of us used to make fun of those damn commercials where the old person falls down and is like, ‘Help! I’ve fallen and I can’t get up!’ And then, one day . . . it wasn’t funny anymore.  
   
“I hate those commercials.  
   
“Anyway . . . after he died, my papa tried to step into my life in a way he never had before. He actually seemed like he cared about me. He was my papa’s father-in-law, so papa wasn’t as affected by it as mama.  
   
“My mom . . . her dad was everything to her - more so to her than to me.  
   
“When he died, my mama slipped into a depression.  
   
“She was always sad, and even though I was sad, too, I didn’t know why she had to be so down all the time. I wanted her to be happy, so I tried to make her laugh, but every time I did something silly, she would shake her head and say, ‘oh _mijo,_ you’re so much like your grandfather.’ And she would be sad again.  
   
“My papa tried to help, too.  
   
“I think, the two or three months after grandpapa died, my dad tried really hard to fill the boots he left behind. But . . . let’s just say my grandpapa had really big feet.  
   
“No one could replace him, not even my own papa. No - _especially_ my own papa.  
   
“You see, my dad gets really impatient sometimes, and . . . and when mama wasn’t getting better after a couple months, he got angry with her. He started yelling. He tried to force her to be happy.  
   
“After three more months, papa gave up on her. He handed her off to a therapist, because he was tired of dealing with her low moods all the time.  
   
“I never told him I was depressed, too.  
   
“I didn’t want papa to be mad at me, too.  
   
“So I pretended to be okay. I smiled, and I played with my LEGOs. I laughed and joked around, but a part of me was gone, and I knew I’d never be able to get it back.  
   
“After a while, things started to get better. My mama was happier, and my papa was more patient with her. My brother’s and sister’s were okay, and had good grades in school. Their teachers loved them, and they always turned in their work on time.  
   
“Me, though . . . I started to fall behind.  
   
“It was hard to focus on school, and my grades were slipping fast.  
   
“My teachers scolded me for not turning in work on time, and they always held me to the expectations that my older siblings had set.  
   
“I tried to focus on school, but it was hard.  
   
“My mind was busy with a lot of other things.  
   
“Like . . . how much I missed grandpapa. Like how much I wanted to see him again. Like how much my papa was hiding, and much pain my mama was still in.  
   
“I thought about a lot of things that school year, then . . . when summer started, I was, umm . . . well, I was determined to- to start over? I wanted a clean slate. So, I tried to forget everything, and move on.  
   
“Then I realized something.  
   
“Something that got me into trouble, and something I would never stop hating about myself.  
   
“I realized . . . that- Well . . . I realized that I was . . .  
   
“. . . that I was bisexual.  
   
“That I _am_ bisexual.  
   
“And . . . and when I figured that out, I was so scared. I knew that my papa hated the idea of- of same sex relationships, and he was always really open about his opinion. He had said before that he hated- well . . . he said . . . he hated . . . faggots.  
   
“He said they were some sort of freaks that didn’t belong. He doesn’t think bisexuality is a real concept, and he’s the kind of guy that would be found screaming in a crowd of protesters at a Pride festival, only going there so he could spit in their faces and yell at them.  
   
“I knew I couldn’t tell him, so I told mama instead.  
   
“I had to tell _someone._  
   
“After I told my mama, she held me close and whispered, ‘I still love you, _mijo._ I will always love you. This doesn’t change anything. You can still find love.’  
   
“And . . . well, I wish my mama were here right now.  
   
“I wish I could have told her thank you before I disappeared. Before I cut myself open and jumped.  
   
“I wish I could have told her how much I loved her.  
   
“But . . . she’s not. So . . . umm, well, it was only a matter of time before papa found out.  
   
“He wasn’t so understanding.  
   
“He yelled at me, over and over again, and . . . when yelling wasn’t enough . . . he hit me.  
   
“He said he didn’t raise a queer.  
   
“He said he never wanted to see me again.  
   
“He told me I was corrupted. That I was a mistake.  
   
“After that, I felt like a dirty stain on the perfectly clean McClain family name. I felt like a dead branch on the family tree - better to snip away then to tarnish the beauty, right?  
   
“Damn, that was a good metaphor.  
   
“Anyway, that’s how I felt. I still feel that way, actually. And, get ready for another metaphor, because this one’s the winner-  
   
“I feel like a puzzle piece. But . . . the puzzle’s already been completed. It’s already whole, and I’m just an extra. I’m unnecessary. I’m not important, and no one needs me. So, instead of placing me gently back in the box, they toss me out. I don’t mean anything to them. I’m just another piece of a completed puzzle. Unwanted.  
   
“I feel like that’s the best way to describe how I feel.  
   
“But instead of letting everyone else throw me away . . . I’m tossing myself out.  
   
“I’m doing their dirty work for them, by taking myself out of a picture that’s better off without me.  
   
“But, I’m getting off track. I wasn’t supposed to jump ahead that far. Maybe I can just edit this when I’m done.  
   
“. . . My papa hit me.  
   
“After he hit me again: twice, three times, and countless more, my mama finally did something about it. She called the cops, and they took him away. He was arrested for physical and mental child abuse, and even though he was gone . . . the damage he had done stayed.  
   
“My mama’s depression came back, worse than before.  
   
“I felt awful. About everything. I started to believe all the things my papa told me.  
   
“I thought I was a mistake.  
   
“I thought I was better of dead.  
   
“That death was what I deserved.  
   
“I thought that if I left . . . everyone’s life would be easier. They wouldn’t have to deal with my constant failures in school, and the attractions I had to both males and females. They wouldn’t have to deal with my stupid condition. They could forget about me, and be happy.  
   
“I thought that maybe if I disappeared . . . I could see my grandpa again, too.  
   
“I thought a lot that summer.  
   
“And like I said, it’s never a good thing when I think too much.  
   
“I thought a lot about running away. About leaving my family, and helping them become ‘normal’ without their ridiculously suicidal bisexual son or brother. I thought a lot about just . . . not being here. Not exactly about suicide, but just about . . . disappearing. I thought about what everyone would do without me. I thought about what would happen if I just vanished one day. Would anyone care? Would they even notice?  
   
“Then, I thought about how I would disappear.  
   
“I thought about running.  
   
“Then, I realized that if I ran, I would risk getting caught.  
   
“So I thought about death.  
   
“I thought about it a lot.  
   
“When I was lying awake at night, unable to sleep. When I was waking up in the morning, trying so hard to find the effort to move. When I was walking across the street, thinking that maybe, if I’m lucky, a careless driver would take away my life so I wouldn’t have to do it myself. I thought about it when I was making breakfast, holding a butter knife, wondering how hard I’d have to press it against my skin to make it bleed. I thought about it when I was in the shower, wondering if drowning is really as painful as they say. I even thought about it when we were at the mall - wondering if I went to the bathroom, and never came back?  
   
“I thought about it so much, I was terrified that I was actually going to do it.  
   
“Then I asked myself . . . why not?  
   
“It’s not like I had anything to lose. I already felt like I was empty. All I would be doing is draining myself - making sure my body was keeping up with my state of mind.  
   
“After I realized I was actually thinking about suicide, and not just disappearing, I realized that that was the answer I was searching for.  
   
“It was my escape.  
   
“So . . . I ran away. I tried to get as far away as possible. I even made it out of the Caribbean. I made it to Louisiana. And when I saw the bridge, I thought, ‘Here. This is where I want to go. This is the last thing I want to see before I leave.’  
   
“I didn’t think twice.  
   
“I didn’t have to.  
   
“I had already made up my mind, months before.  
   
“So I tried to disappear.  
   
“But someone brought me back. A stranger. A woman. She pulled over right before I was about to escape. She stopped me before I could end all the pain.  
   
“But now . . . sitting here, talking to you- er, talking to your iPad, I guess . . . I’m starting to think that maybe . . . I owe her something. Not just my life.  
   
“Now, I’m wondering if I made the right choice.  
   
“Not by attempting suicide.  
   
“But by coming to Louisiana.  
   
“Because, just the other day, when I looked into your eyes for the first time, I saw something in you that I see in myself.  
   
“I saw pain, and insecurity. I saw false pride and a bullshit excuse for a smile.  
   
“And I thought: if I knew this kid before . . . if I would have known him months ago . . . would I still have tried to end my life?  
   
“But . . . when the answer was no, I panicked.  
   
“I got really scared, because I realized _you_ were my escape, not death.  
   
“And- I’m terrified, Keith.  
   
“Because I’ve wanted to die for so long. But now . . . I don’t know what to do now that I feel like I’m finally living.  
   
“I panicked, so I tried again.  
   
“But you were there.  
   
“I begged you to stop. I said I didn’t want you to help me.  
   
“But the truth is, I was just scared because I knew you _could_ help me.  
   
“I knew. I knew that you could save me.  
   
“And knowing that . . . knowing that is really, really scary. Knowing that I’m putting my life in someone else’s hands so willingly . . . is scary.  
   
“I tried again because I didn’t want to make you feel obligated to help me. You don’t have to. You really don’t. I was trying to make that choice for you. To make sure you didn’t have to worry about me, because I’d already be gone.  
   
“I just . . . I wanted to tell you.  
   
“I wanted to tell you everything. And now, I want to give you a choice.  
   
“You can help me . . . but- only if you want to. Or . . . you can let me go, and I won’t bother you again. I can make it easier for you by disappearing.  
   
“And, now that I’ve actually said all of this, I’m having seconds thoughts.  
   
“I might just delete this message.  
   
“Maybe that would be best.  
   
“I can just delete it, and . . . and you won’t have to worry. I can leave, without telling you anything. Without giving you something else to hold on to. Because, if I die, I don’t want to hurt you more than I already have.  
   
“But I can tell you’re in pain, too.  
   
“And I know you haven’t told me your entire story.  
   
“You don’t have to, though. You don’t have to tell me anything. But . . . if you do, I’m here to listen.  
   
“Because . . . we’re friends now. I guess.  
   
“And I don’t know how you usually end these things, but . . . I think I’ll just push STOP now. So . . . goodbye?”


	10. Realization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, I feel like it's been months since I've written more of this story! Well, hope you guys enjoy - I LOVE YOU ALL!

**April 11, 2017**  
   
**Garrison Hospital**  
   
**Room 302**  
   
The hospital was already locked up for the night. The lights were out, and the halls were nearly empty. Keith had returned to his own room after listening to Lance’s entry. He had skipped lunch and dinner, and instead, feasted on Lance’s words.  
   
Over and over again.  
   
He listened to Lance’s voice for hours.  
   
He listed to his story dozens of times.  
   
And he cried.  
   
It was painful, to listen; yet it was more painful to stop. So he continued. He listened again and again.  
   
He memorized it.  
   
He memorized Lance’s voice, too. Empty, yet full of beauty. Like a flower that hadn’t quite blossomed yet. It was full of potential.  
   
While listening to it on repeat, Keith had drawn another sketch. This one was different from his others. It wasn’t his words, and it wasn’t the same style, either.  
   
There was a healthy, thriving tree, with a single, dead branch. While the tree appeared to be painted with abstract colors and shapes, the darkened branch looked like someone had tried to tear it off. It was shriveling, and dying. Keith wrote Lance’s quote above the tree, in neat, yet troubling handwriting. “I FELT LIKE A DEAD BRANCH ON THE FAMILY TREE - BETTER TO SNIP AWAY THAN TO TARNISH THE BEAUTY, RIGHT?”  
   
Once done, Keith saved the picture under a newly created file, titled: Friends.  
   
Before he went back to Lance’s room, Keith wanted to create another entry, as well.  
   
PLAY.  
   
“You told me a story. _Your_ story. And I listened. I listened until I had memorised every word. I listened until I couldn’t stop hearing your voice in my head.  
   
“And . . . after listening, I realize now that I don’t have much to say. I thought a lot about the metaphors you used: with the tree, and the puzzle. So I drew something for you. The tree. And . . . since I made one of your metaphors into art, I’m going to make the other into song.  
   
“. . . I’ll take your extra, abstract puzzle pieces and make something new. I’ll throw them together, into a frame, to create a picture - one more beautiful than the original. One with more character and style. I’ll frame _you,_ Lance. And I’ll make sure you’re displayed in every country, every state, every city, on every building and every wall, so that the whole world can see just how beautiful you are to me . . .  
   
“God, that was gay - shit, wait - umm - fuck, EDIT-”  
   
STOP.  
   
Keith immediately dropped his iPad onto his cot, growling in frustration.  
   
It was so much easier before, when he knew he was talking to just himself. When he knew that he was the only one that was going to be hearing his words. It was easier when he knew he was alone.  
   
Now, though- now it was hard.  
   
Keith had never had a problem spewing out words before. He had never had a problem with pouring out his soul into a blank screen, or spilling his secrets to an inanimate object. But now that he knew Lance had done the same thing - now that he knew there was something that connected the two of them - it felt impossible.  
   
It felt like Lance was listening.  
   
Keith wondered how many times Lance had started his little speech over, trying to get it to sound perfect.  
   
Taking a deep breath, Keith deleted the last four seconds of his entry, then pressed PLAY again.  
   
“And . . . that probably came out little more intimate than I planned.”  
   
Keith took in a shaky breath, leaving five whole seconds of silence to record.  
   
“It’s just that . . . I’ve always talked to myself. I’ve never been brave enough to speak to someone else about the way I think, or the way I feel. I’ve never had to worry about anyone else listening. Now . . . I do.  
   
“Now I’m worried that you’ll start to know me more than I know myself. I’m worried that you’ll find out things about me that you didn’t want to know. I’m worried, but . . . excited.  
   
“I’ve never really had a friend before.  
   
“Well . . . I’ve never really trusted myself to have a friend. Not after-  
   
“Not after . . . Rolo.  
   
“Rolo was my best friend.  
   
“We met just over three years ago, here at the hospital. He was a bit older than me, and I looked up to him in a lot of ways. He always had this wicked grin on his face, like he was about to do something stupid. Of course, I was always right beside him, wreaking havoc and causing mayhem. We were always together. Side by side, and . . . I had always hoped . . . hand in hand.  
   
“I was only 11.  
   
“A child with stupid, unrealistic dreams.  
   
“I was a child who thought that maybe, one day, Rolo would be healed. That he would be okay. I was a dumb kid who believed in fairy tales and happy endings. I had always hoped that one day, Rolo and I could be together. Not just in the same room, or sitting at the same table, but actually be _together._ I was actually stupid enough to believe something so unrealistic could happen. I actually thought that maybe one day . . . Rolo would love be back. That he would look at me the same way I looked at him. I thought that one day, he would kiss my cheeks when I was angry, and wipe away my tears when I was sad. I thought he would run his hands through my hair, and smile at me the way every groom smiled at their bride.  
   
“I was so blind.  
   
“And I got absolutely no warning the day he died.  
   
“He was always there, and then, one day . . . he just vanished.  
   
“I’ve felt broken ever since.  
   
“It’s hard to let myself grow close to anyone when I know they’ll either get better and leave the hospital, or they’ll get worse, and they’ll die. But, I’m sitting here, three years after my best friend - my lover - passed away, thinking- er, _hoping,_ that you can be the one to dodge my black and white expectations. I’m hoping you’ll find a way to sneak past my pessimistic views, and create another option. One where you don’t have to leave.  
   
“And I understand that this whole thing just sounds super gay, and I’m sorry. I just- I guess I don’t know how to express myself unless I’m spewing out rainbows and glitter- ugh-”  
   
Keith facepalmed, taking another deep breath.  
   
“God, I hate my fucking gay ass right now-  
   
“I am NOT, in anyway, trying to come on to you. I just want to help. I want to be there for you, homosexual fantasies aside. I just don’t know how- and I don’t even know if you _want_ help. I don’t even know if I feel that way about you. I mean, you’re hot, I’ll give you that.  
   
“God, he’s so hot what is _wrong with me?!”_  
   
STOP.  
   
“I can’t do this,” Keith muttered to himself, wondering where those last few lines even came from.  
   
Sure, Keith could acknowledge the fact that Lance had really nice features. He could admit that Lance’s eyes were the most beautiful blue he had ever seen, and that his hip swayed hypnotically when he walked.  
   
But did he . . . oh God-  
   
Did he _like_ Lance?!  
   
No. No, he couldn’t.  
   
He’s only ever had feelings for Rolo- who, by the way, was MUCH cuter than Lance- Though, Rolo didn’t have nearly as many freckles . . . and his skin wasn’t quite as smooth-  
   
_No._  
   
Keith dropped the iPad onto his cot unceremoniously.  
   
“Shit,” he whispered. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit- no no no no no-” Violently running his hands through his hair, Keith paced back and forth across the tiles of his floor until plopping down onto his cot, hand clutched over his heart.  
   
“Oh shit, not again-” He cursed, clamping his eyes shut as pain burst through his chest, his heart picking up pace unhealthily.  
   
Keith tried to focus on his breathing, though it was nearly impossible when his mind and heart kept screaming the one dreadful fact he had come to understand.  
   
He had romantic feelings for a suicidal teenager.  
   
_Fuck._  
   
Keith groaned, slowly feeling his heart rate decline to a steadier pace. Once he felt a little less frazzled than usual, Keith picked up his iPad again.  
   
PLAY.  
   
“I fucking hate you and your stupid ass gorgeous face, you little fucker.”  
   
STOP.  
   
PLAY.  
   
“Why do you have to be so fucking cute? God, you’re an asshat-”  
   
STOP.  
   
PLAY.  
   
“Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhggggggggggguuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhh! YOU. STUPID. ASS. MOTHER FUCKING BITCH-”  
   
“Whoa- Language!”  
   
“Go away Shiro, I’m pining!”  
   
STOP.  
   
“. . . I can see that,” Keith’s brother said gently, taking another cautious step into the room. Keith was now sprawled out on his cot, eyes on the ceiling and mind on everything else.  
   
“What happened?” Shiro asked, seating himself on the corner of Keith’s cot.  
   
Keith let out an exaggerated sigh. “Why are you in my room?”  
   
“Just came to check up on you,” Shiro answered. “So, what happened?”  
   
Keith stubbornly turned onto his side, facing a blank wall. “Nothing.”  
   
“That’s bull. I come in here and you’re cussing up a storm. You look angry, and tired. What happened?”  
   
Keith yanked the sheets up and over his head. He heard Shiro sigh from the other side of the quilt. “Keith, what’s going on?”  
   
“I don’t want to talk about it.”  
   
“Well, I think it’s time you do. And not just to your iPad. Tell me.”  
   
“No.”  
   
“Keith. Tell me.”  
   
“I don’t want to.”  
   
Another sigh. Then Shiro lightly tugged the blankets off of Keith, leaving the boy with static in his hair. “Please, tell me. I’m here to listen.”  
   
Keith kept his gaze fixated on the wall, not trusting himself to look his brother in the eyes when he caved.  
   
“It’s my heart,” he admitted, “It’s hurting again.”  
   
“Do we need to hook you up to more-”  
   
“No. It’s a different kind of hurt.”  
   
“What kind?”  
   
Keith tried to ignore the tone of voice Shiro was using. It was his ‘interrogation tone,’ the one he used while asking patience the usual questions. It pissed Keith off when Shiro used it on him.  
   
“The kind that eats away at your gut. The kind that fills you with hope, but also leaves you drained. The kind that makes you want to dance around, but also hurl. The kind that breaks you into pieces, but promises to put you back together, stronger than before. The kind you love to hate, and the kind to hate to love.”  
   
As Keith’s eyes stayed glued to the wall, he imagined Shiro pulling out a clipboard and taking notes.  
   
“You’re talking about love?”  
   
Keith blinked.  
   
“God, no-” he protested, sitting up to face his brother. “It’s not big enough to be love. It’s just . . . a stupid crush-”  
   
Shiro’s face lit up, his grin taking over the majority of his face.  
   
“Aww, a crush? On who? Who is he?” Shiro leaned forward expectantly, as if Keith was just going to confide in him.  
   
Instead, Keith glared. “Now would be a good time to shut up and get out of my room.”  
   
Shiro’s smile just widened. “Not until you tell me who you’ve got your eyes on.”  
   
“Oh my God- leave!”  
   
Shiro laughed when Keith lightly shoved him closer to the edge of the cot.  
   
“C’mon, Keith TELL MEEEEEE!” Shiro whined.  
   
Keith rolled his eyes. “Get out of my room, Shiro.”  
   
“Is it Lance?”  
   
Keith blanched, his cheeks flaring a deep red.  
   
He didn’t think it was possible for the smile on Shiro’s face to get any bigger, but it did.  
   
“It’s totally Lance.”


	11. Frozen Eyes and a Heated Heart

**April 11, 2017**  
   
**Garrison Hospital**  
   
**Room 233**  
   
“I want to help you,” Keith whispered, “But . . . you have to let me.”  
   
Lance nodded slowly, tufts of his soft brown hair falling across his forehead and onto the pillow that kept his head up. The boy still wouldn’t meet Keith’s gaze, and he wasn’t speaking again. Keith worried that the only time he’d ever be able to hear Lance’s voice again was if he listened to the recording once more.  
   
The two boys lay on Lance’s cot, Keith’s body sprawled atop of the blankets, while Lance was nearly hidden underneath the sheets.  
   
Now that Keith was aware of how he felt towards the other boy, it was strange how many things he noticed about Lance that he hadn’t before. It was hard to ignore them, too.  
   
Like how warm his body was, even through the blankets that separated them. Like how curious his fingers were - always working away at one thing or another. Now, they were pinching the ends of his blanket, eyes fixated on his fingers as they folded over the fabric, then opened it up again. Keith also noticed the way Lance’s long legs stretched over the cot, his toes wiggling near the edge. He saw the way Lance’s eyes darted about the room, landing on anything but him. They were wild and never ceasing, though appeared to be shattered somehow. Like a frozen lake that was beginning to melt away and crack.  
   
Keith exhaled, and finally, those eyes that had been haunting his mind all day focused on his.  
   
Yes. A shattered lake.  
   
Keith was rather embarrassed to admit that he would dive into that chilling water without a second thought.  
   
He would dive in, and he would drown, just as he was doing now.  
   
“. . . -eith? Keith?”  
   
Keith blinked. “Huh?”  
   
Lance giggled, and Keith’s defective heart nearly burst from his chest and astro projected itself into space.  
   
“I’ll let you,” Lance said, his eyes suddenly looking more like a summer’s day sky than a frozen tundra. “I’ll let you help me.”  
   
Keith nodded, feeling his dark hair brush down into his eyes, shielding him from Lance’s view.  
   
Good. Keith didn’t want Lance to see the blush that had formed on his cheeks. Although, Keith supposed, it was plenty dark in the room already.  
   
_Extra precautions,_ Keith thought.  
   
“Soooo . . .” Lance started, “You, uh . . . you listened to my, uh-”  
   
“Yeah,” Keith said.  
   
“Cool.”  
   
Keith nodded, wondering if this could possibly get any more awkward than it already was. He tried thinking of something to say. Something nonchalant and clever - maybe even suave or flirtatious.  
   
_No,_ Keith thought, _I’m about as smooth as chunky peanut butter. Let’s not go there-_  
   
Then a thought occurred to him.  
   
Keith smiled lightly, then sat up on the cot, reaching towards the end of the bed to grab his iPad. “I, uh . . . I drew a picture. Here.” Keith slid the cover of his iPad off, then quickly opened the file containing the artwork he had done based off of Lance’s quote. The abstract tree flicked onto the screen brightly, and Keith held it out for Lance to see.  
   
When Lance’s eyes fell on his quote, the smallest, saddest smile spread over his lips, and his eyes froze over again.  
   
“I thought it was a really beautiful metaphor,” Keith explained.  
   
“I think it’s a really beautiful drawing,” Lance said. “So you’re an artist?”  
   
Keith shrugged, tucking his legs underneath him so he was resting on his knees. “I wouldn’t say _artist,_ but yeah, I draw.”  
   
Lance shook his head. “You’re an artist. Definitely an artist. So you have more drawings?”  
   
“Uh, yeah . . .” Keith said, a little cautious. “There’s another file that I put all of them under.”  
   
Lance’s eyes flicked up to meet Ketih’s. “Can I?”  
   
Keith gulped. “Sure,” His voice cracked.  
   
Lance smiled, then closed the file to open a new one. Keith couldn’t see which one he had clicked, but suddenly, Keith’s voice was playing softly from the speaker.  
   
_“You told me a story._ Your _story. And I listened. I listened until I had memorised every word. I listened until I couldn’t stop hearing your voice in my head-”_  
   
“Fuck-” Keith cursed, launching forward to snatch the iPad away, “Wrong folder!”  
   
_“And . . . after listening, I realize now that I don’t have much to say.”_  
   
“Lance, that’s not the right folder!” Keith shrieked, his arms not quite able to reach the iPad that Lance had so ruthlessly lifted above his head.  
   
_“I thought a lot about the metaphors you used: with the tree, and the puzzle. So I drew something for you. The tree. And . . . since I made one of your metaphors into art, I’m going to make the other into song-”_  
   
“NO NO NO-” Keith wailed, “Lance please!”  
   
“Wait wait wait,” Lance teased, “Isn’t this for me?”  
   
“It’s not finished!”  
   
_“I’ll take your extra, abstract puzzle pieces and make something new. I’ll throw them together, into a frame, to create a picture - one more beautiful than the original. One with more character and style. I’ll frame_ you, _Lance.”_  
   
Lance’s eyes grew as wide as Keith had ever seen them, shattering the layers of ice that hid every secret he kept underwater.  
   
_“And I’ll make sure you’re displayed in every country, every state, every city, on every building and every wall, so that the whole world can see just how beautiful you are to me . . .”_  
   
“Shit-” Keith swore, raking his hands painfully through his hair. “You- you weren’t supposed to- ugh! God, now I- I’m so stupid, I-” Keith’s voice broke off as he looked up at Lance.  
   
Tears were spilling from his eyes.  
   
“Oh God, no. Please don’t cry. I just-”  
   
Lance’s arms flung around Keith’s frame, squeezing the boy into his chest. Surprised, Keith let out an appropriate gasp, his body tensing, as he wasn’t used to physical contact. Once he had calmed down a little, Keith slowly wrapped his arms around Lance, engulfing the other boy in an embrace.  
   
“Hey . . . are you okay?” Keith asked.  
   
Lance seemed reluctant to pull away, but when he did, his eyes (now full of tears) were fixated on Keith’s.  
   
“Did you really mean that?” He asked, hope shimmering within his tears.  
   
Keith wasn’t sure what to say.  
   
Lance was taking this a lot better than he thought he would.  
   
“Of course,” Keith said, resting a hand on Lance’s thigh. It was warm. “Of course I meant it. Lance- you deserve to be seen. You deserve to be put on display. I don’t care if you’re some sort of extra puzzle piece in the box - I still want you. I’m not going to throw you away.”  
   
Lance eyes fell “Yeah, but . . . that won’t stop other people from tossing me out into the trash.”  
   
“Then I guess I’ll be doing a lot of dumpster diving,” Keith said in response, letting a smile shine through his teeth.  
   
Lance huffed out a laugh, wiping away one of his tears with a bare hand. His arms had been bandaged up again, along with his shoulder. The Doctors had been worried about his condition, and even now, Doctor Thace was standing outside the door, in the hallway, waiting for Keith to leave for the night so he could watch over the Cuban until morning.  
   
Keith was worried, too.  
   
He had been really scared.  
   
But seeing Lance now, smiling at his joke, lit up a fire in him that he thought had burned out years ago. It was as if Lance had just waltzed around inside Keith’s chest with an open canister of propane, then lit a match.  
   
It was beautiful, but it was deadly.  
   
**Cafeteria**  
   
“Hey, Keith! Over here!”  
   
Keith glanced over his shoulder to see Katie Holt, Hunk Garrett, and Shay Anamani all sitting together at their usual table.  
   
Shay (naturally) smiled at him, her eyes crinkling up with the genuine effort. Hunk was sitting to her right, waving Keith over with one of his big beefy Hawaiian hands. Katie was grinning from ear to ear, a bowl of cereal in front of her, surrounded by small splashes of milk. Seriously, that girl was _always_ making a mess.  
   
Keith held up a finger, signaling them to wait a minute.  
   
Then, continuing his path, he stopped at the edge of Lance’s table. Other than one of the more experienced nurses, Ryner, Lance was sitting alone.  
   
“Mind if I steal him for breakfast?” Keith asked the nurse.  
   
Ryner was one of the oldest nurses in the building, so she knew a lot of the patients, and was sweet to every new comer. She was the nurse that would sneak you lollipops after supper and gummy bears before bed. Lately, she wore her graying brown hair in two small pigtails, and her round glasses made her eyes look bigger than they truly were.  
   
“Go ahead, hon. I just have to keep him in my sight. Make sure he’s doing alright.”  
   
Keith nodded, then smiled at Lance, nodding his head toward Pidge’s table. “C’mon, you can sit over here today.”  
   
Lance’s eyes darted over to the three kids situated at the table. “Uh . . . I dunno. Can’t you just sit over here?”  
   
Keith raised an eyebrow in silent question, letting his head tilt to the left just a tad. “I’m sure you can see the circus just fine from here, but I’ve learned that these performers demand front row seaters. That’s me. And now . . . that’s also you. C’mon.”  
   
Lance sighed like a four year old who didn’t want to go to his sister’s volleyball game. Though, eventually, he slid off his chair and onto his feet, making sure to grab his bowl of Cinnamon flavored Life cereal before following Keith to the other table.  
   
“Ahh look!” Pidge announced, raising both hands ceremoniously into the air, “Mr. Grumpy Fuck Pants brought a friend! That’s funny, actually, because I didn’t know you had any.”  
   
Lance seemed to flinch away a little, but Keith rested a hand on his shoulder. “That’s just Pidge. She’s a little . . . extreme. You’ll get used to it. Maybe.”  
   
“I’m amazing, Kogane,” Pidge said matter-of-factly. “So, are you going to introduce us, or is that my job?”  
   
“Oh- sorry,” Keith blanched. “Umm, this is Lance. Lance, this is Pidge, Hunk, and Shay. They’re . . . interesting.”  
   
“What Keith isn’t elaborating on is the fact that we’re a bit secluded from the rest of these low lives,” Pidge said, eyes trained on Lance as she spoke. She always looked people in the eyes. Keith wasn’t sure how she managed that, but she did. “We may be rust lumps, too, but we deal with it. Well, except her-” Pidge pointed to Shay, “-She’s just a volunteer. She is, however, a valued member of our club. Which, I should mention, you’re only allowed to join with my permission.”  
   
“You’re like, eight,” Keith objected.  
   
“Shut up bitch I’m 11,” Pidge sneered back, earning a small laugh from Lance.  
   
Pidge smiled in approval. “Wow Lance, I think you’ll become a better asset to this team than I thought.”  
   
“Wha- I can laugh too, you know,” Keith interrupted.  
   
“Yeah but you look like a cow when you do,” Pidge said, “It looks strained and unnatural.”  
   
Keith rolled his eyes.  
   
“There’s also _that._ The eye rolling thing that you do. It's bothersome."  
  
_“You’re_ bothersome!”  
   
“Wow. Great comeback, Kogane,” Pidge said monotonously, with a single, slow blink of her eyes. She then turned her attention back to Lance. “So, can we trust you to join our cause?”  
   
Lance shrugged.  
   
“I vote yes,” Shay said nicely, always one to tuck another patient under her wing.  
   
“Me too,” Hunk agreed, always one to go along with whatever Shay said.  
   
Pidge sighed. “Well, Lance, I’m not going to force you to join, but it looks like my comrades want you in. If you’re still unsettled by the idea of grouping up with a few strangers, we can tell you a bit about ourselves. Hunk?” Katie looked at the Hawaiian expectantly.  
   
Hunk blinked, then coughed unnecessarily. “Oh, uh . . . yeah, I’m Hunk. I’ve always wanted to go on to be a master chef, because I love cooking and I love food, but then my family and I found out that I have really bad digestive issues. No more food more me.” Hunk slumped down in his seat. “Uh . . . I really love the ocean, and I have a really cool rock collection.”  
   
Lance nodded, but didn’t say anything.  
   
Shay waved, her smile ever present on her face. “I’m Shay Anamani. I’m from the islands, and I love seafood, exploring, and helping people. My favorite animal is an elephant, and my dream is to be able to ride one one day. I volunteer here at the Garrison and do everything I can to keep the patients safe and happy.”  
   
“I’m Katie, but everyone calls me Pidge. I’m a total tech junkie, and would kill to get my hands on every new gaming system released. My family’s a bit demented, but I love ‘em. Indoors are my specialty, and I’m the undecided leader of our little gang. I’ve got really bad cancer, which is why my head is so bald and shiny. So . . . your turn?”  
   
Lance blinked as if trying to soak in all this information via eyelids.  
   
After a while, he just whispered, “Wait, so . . . you have cancer? Do you know . . . er- well, how long do you have left? Do you know?”  
   
For the slightest second, Keith could’ve sworn Pidge’s face became a sheet of plastic - unmoving and dull. Then, in the next, she was smiling again, with a shrug.  
   
“Forty, fifty thousand years, give or take. I’m actually immortal - been here for God knows how long.”  
   
Hunk laughed a bit nervously, but seemed to relax when he saw Lance’s lips tug into a smile.  
   
“So, what do you guys do in this little ‘club’ of yours?” Lance asked, rather quietly.  
   
“Glad you asked, brave warrior,” Pidge said, “We battle only the fiercest of monsters, taking down evil and stopping plagues from causing devastation. We rid the world of destruction and save innocent-”  
   
“Oh please,” Keith said, eyes narrowed just the slightest bit, “You’re all stuck in a hospital. The only thing you’re fighting is your diseases.”  
   
Silence.  
   
Keith gulped, immediately wishing he could take it back.  
   
“I’m sorry- I . . . I didn’t mean that, I just- you don’t have any enemies-”  
   
“No, you’re right.” Pidge said, that plastic mask welding back to her face. “I _do_ have an enemy. His name is _Cancer.”_ And with that, Pidge stood from the table and disappeared down the hall.

**Hey guys! Just a side note - I drew this picture of Cancer Pidge if you wanna check it out. I'd call it 'fanart,' but I'm technically not a fan, I'm the creator haha ANYWAY**["Cancer" by E_C_C_E_N_TRIC](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/558305685046406331/)


	12. Highschool 'Friends'

**April 12, 2017**

**Garrison Hospital**

**Room 302**

“I’ve made a mistake. A big one. 

“I feel as if I’m beginning to push away the few people who actually tolerate me. But . . . I also feel like I deserve it. I’ve done so much to hurt other people, and now, it’s finally coming back to haunt me. I’m finally getting what I deserve. Solitude. Isolation. 

“It’s the only thing I feel. Except when I’m with him . . .

“With him, I feel like nothing else matters. 

“With him, I feel free. I can be whoever I want to be, and I don’t have to try and live up to anyone else’s expectations, because for him, I’m enough. 

“I may not feel like enough. I may not feel like I could possibly fill the role that the universe has given to me - whatever that role may be. I may not feel capable of adding up to the rest of the world. 

“But I don’t have to. 

“Not when I’m with him. 

“And God help me, if I screw this up with him the way I did with her . . . the way I did with Rolo . . . I don’t think I could live with that. I think that, maybe - finally - it would be too much for me to bear. I think I would collapse. I’d give up. 

“I can’t let that happen. 

“I have to hold on, like I promised I would. And I can’t let go. I can’t.”

STOP. 

Keith took a deep breath, wondering if he should pay Pidge a visit. 

He felt guilty enough already, and moping about in his room for hours wasn’t necessarily helping. 

After a few more minutes of silence, Keith dragged himself off the cot, leaving his iPad in its respected place before stepping out into the hallway, making his way to **Room 284.**

 

**Room 284**

Creaking metal signaled the boy’s arrival, though no one inside the room seemed to notice. 

Peeking past the wall that blocked his view from the Holt family and Doctor Thace, Keith noted the presence of Mr. and Mrs. Holt, their son, Mitch, and Katie, who was lying on the cot, her hands pressed over her ears tightly, as if trying to block out screams in a haunted house. She looked like she was in pain, and there were small tears building up in her eyes. 

Keith couldn’t blame her. Mrs. Holt was yelling again. Complaining. 

“What do you mean there’s no cure? You said this was treatable!”

“Treatable? Yes. Curable? No. We can treat the symptoms - try to ease the pain and make it easier for her to move around and function properly. Other than what we’ve already been doing, there’s not much else that could help-”

“Are you serious? You’re just going to let my daugher lie here in pain for months until she dies? What kind of a doctor are you?”

“Ma’am, I assure you, we’re doing everything we can. We’ve got countless employees that have been searching for a cure for years. As soon as we’ve got it figured out, and know that it’s safe, we’ll operate. Until then, what we’re doing now has to suffice.”

“Years? You’ve been working on it for years, and you still have no idea how to treat it? How hard are you trying, Doctor? Because if you’ve been trying to solve this for years, and haven’t gotten anywhere, I have to question whether or not you take your job seriously-”

“Honey-” A male voice intruded. It was Mr. Holt. From his fraction of vision, Keith could see that he had placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder. Possibly for comfort, more likely for restraint. “-if he says they’re doing all they can, then we have to believe them-”

“Who’s side are you on, Samuel?” Mrs. Holt barked. “Our daughter is _dying,_ and you’re defending the people who refuse to save her?!”

“Mom, please-” Mitch said, his voice cracking with pain. 

“Matt, this isn’t the time to cut into our conversation-”

_Right: Matt,_ Keith thought, _not Mitch. I was close._

“It’s the perfect time, Mom!” Matt insisted, “We _all_ want Katie to be safe. We _all_ want her to be healthy. We’re all on the same side, so we all have to trust each other. Katie is sick, Mom. And she may never get better. We have to be here for her-”

“No, she _will_ get better. Or, she _would,_ if he would just do his damn job!” Mrs. Holt jabbed a finger in Thace’s direction. 

“What about you, huh?” Matt fired back before Thace could voice anything. 

“What about me, son?” Mrs. Holt asked bitterly, daring him to answer. 

“Are you doing your job?”

Mrs. Holt blinked. “What do you mean, of course I am-”

“No,” Matt said, shaking his head. “Are you really?”

“Wh- what do you mean . . . ?”

“I mean, are you really doing your job? As a mother? As a caretaker? As a guardian? Are you really? Or are you just as inactive as you accuse Doctor Thace of being?”

Mrs. Holt took an involuntary step back. Then her eyes narrowed at her son. “How dare you use that tone with me, young man!”

“Colleen, that’s enough!” Mr. Holt shouted, stepping between the two. “Let’s go for a walk.”

“A _walk?!”_ Colleen demanded incredulously, looking like she was going to argue some more. Before she could lash out at Matt again, Samuel’s hand was wrapped tightly around his wife’s arm, leading her out into the hall and to the stairs. 

Colleen complained the whole way, but as Keith watched them round the corner and leave his sight, he saw Katie’s mother break into tears. Then the couple disappeared. 

Keith’s eyes shifted back to the room, where Matt and Katie sat on the cot, Matt’s hand gently grazing over his little sister’s shiny, bald head. She was hugging Matt close, probably soaking the young man’s shirt with her tears. Matt didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he pulled his sister closer. 

“It’s okay, Kate. It’s going to be okay.”

Keith stood awkwardly in the doorway, not sure if he was welcome in. 

When Thace noticed the small boy, he waved him inside with a kind gesture. 

“Hey Keith, good to see you,” Thace said with a sympathetic smile, “How ya doin’?”

“Good,” Keith whispered, his eyes still lingering on Pidge as he stepped into the room. 

“That’s good,” Thace said. He then stood from the chair he had settled in. “I’m going to go get your brother. You’ll stay here and hold down the fort for me?”

Keith nodded, and Thace playfully ruffled his raven hair with a wink, then left the room to fetch the other doctor. 

Keith wasn’t sure where to stand or sit, so he stayed where he was, forcing his eyes to look at something other than the crying siblings. After staring at a stupid cat poster for two minutes, Matt finally spoke up. 

“You one of Katie’s friends?” He asked kindly. 

Keith shrugged. 

“No,” Katie said, “That’s just Keith.” She leaned away from her brother, her hard, hazel eyes fixating intensely on Keith’s fragile, violet ones. “He’s an ass.”

Matt let out a small chuckle. “Proof that all ass’s, at one point or another, cross paths?”

A smile tugged at the corner of Pidge’s mouth, and she lightly punched her brother in the arm. “Shut up.”

Matt smiled. 

Keith stared. 

It was strange, watching them banter so easily. It seemed so natural for them. 

_Because they’re related,_ Keith thought absentmindedly. _Because they’re siblings. They have each other. They know each other. They’re family._

“Ahh, hey Keith,” Shiro said as he entered **Room 284** with a clipboard in hand. 

Keith waved shyly, wondering for a brief moment if him and Shiro would ever achieve that level of friendly bickering. Like siblings. _Real_ siblings. 

When Shiro’s eyes lifted from the clipboard, they widened as they settled on Matt. 

Katie’s brother was also staring. 

“M-Matt?” Shiro stuttered, “I thought . . . I thought you were going to school in Chicago?”

Matt’s cheeks flushed a bit. “I was, but- when I heard about Kate, I . . . I came as fast as I could-”

“As fast as you could?” Shiro asked, looked confused. “Your sister’s been here for over three years.”

Matt blanched. “W-what? My mom, she . . . she just called a week ago-” Matt looked over at his sister, who sighed. 

“Mom didn’t want you to know. She knew that if you found out, you’d drop out of college to help pay for all the surgeries and medication, and she knew how much that scholarship meant to you.”

“Well she was right. I dropped out. I’m using the money to help you now. I would have done that years ago. Why-” Matt clamped his eyes closed. “Why wouldn’t she tell me something like this? Why would you let her?”

“Matt-” Pidge started, tugging him into another embrace. “I knew how much that scholarship meant to you, too.”

“Kate . . . it means nothing compared to your life. I hope you know that.”

Katie nodded into her brother’s chest. 

“Good. Now, I’m going to go get some snacks for you. Don’t go anywhere, m’kay?”

Pidge nodded again, and Matt stood, brushing past Shiro to leave the room. Keith could’ve sworn the two of them shared some sort of look. Like a . . . almost a seductive kind of look. 

Keith raised his eyebrow at Shiro, but his brother figure just shrugged it off, then moved forward to check Pidge’s vitals. 

“So, you know my brother?” Pidge asked bluntly. 

A slight tint of red began to show in Shiro’s cheeks. “Y-yeah. We went to Highschool together. He was uh . . . he was in the band, and I was on the football team.”

It was silent for a moment before a massive grin spread over Pidge’s face, and she asked, “Did you two, uh . . . have . . . chemistry together?” She wigged her eyebrows suggestively. 

The way Shiro’s eyes widened and his blush spread made Keith question everything he knew about his older brother. 

“Wait . . .” Keith glanced back and forth between Pidge and Shiro. “Oh my God . . . did you guys-”

“It was late. We were drunk. We don’t talk about it-”

Pidge started to cackle. “We do now!” C’mon, tell us! What did you guys do? Oh God, did you fuck in the back of his car?”

“What- no!” 

“Did you guys give each other blowjobs behind the bleachers after one of your football games?”

“I-” Shiro’s face turned the brightest red Keith had ever seen. He was struggling to find the right words to say, and looked like he was about to combust in any second. 

“You totally did, didn’t you?” Pidge asked, that devil-of-a-smirk coming back to slice open her face. 

“Wh- no, we just-”

“Wow good guess, sis.”

Keith turned his head to see Matt walk back into the room with a couple bags of _Baked Lays_ and a liter of _Sprite._

He tossed a bag to Pidge, then set the _Sprite_ down on her night stand, already munching on a chip himself. 

“Wait, so-” Keith glanced back at Shiro, how was practically hidden behind the collar of his doctor’s coat. His face was still red with embarrassment. “You guys were . . . ?”

“Yup,” Matt said casually, digging another chip out of his bag. He was now sprawled out over the bed, legs crossed comfortably as he smirked up at Shiro. 

Keith couldn’t help it. He was staring. Not just at Matt. Not just at Shiro, but at the both of them. 

He tried to picture his brother sucking the lips of another man, but it was hard. Shiro seemed like every stereotypical straight guy. 

“You mean . . . you’re . . . gay?” He asked in bewilderment. 

Shrio coughed intentionally. 

“Well, back then, I didn’t know what I was. Even now, I’m still not sure. But . . . hey, I can appreciate a good looking guy when I see one.”

Keith’s mouth dropped open. 

Shiro . . . wasn’t as straight as he thought he was. 

This was awesome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thoughts on Mrs. Holt? Thoughts on Shiro and Matt's little 'fling'? ;)  
> Just a reminder that I LOVE YOU ALL and I want you to be happy! So eat some cake and watch some Netflix, m'kay?


	13. Good News

**April 14, 2017**

**Garrison Hospital**

**Room 302**

“We were able to contact Lance’s parents and family a few minutes ago. They’re on their way to visit.”

Keith’s eyes widened, and he dropped the book he had been reading. The cover closed harshly, losing his spot, but Keith didn’t mind. He had already read it three times, and knew what was going to happen on the next page. Nevertheless, he plucked up his favorite book and set it carefully on the nightstand beside him. 

He usually read on his iPad, but with this series, he felt it necessary to have the physical copies. He had signatures in the first four, and was rereading them, eager for the fifth (and last) one to be released next week. 

“Reading that book again?” Shiro asked with a light smile. 

Keith nodded, fumbling out of his cot to reach for his Vans and his jacket. He had been relaxing in his room alone for quite a while, and when it became too warm for him, he simply slid his shirt off. Now, he zipped up the grey jacket over his bare chest and wriggled his feet into his shoes. 

“You said Lance’s family was coming?” Keith asked, noticing how his breath suddenly sounded erratic. 

“Yup,” Shiro said, then checked his wristwatch. “They should be here in about six or seven hours. When they get there, I expect you to stay out of Lance’s room. It’s family visiting time, and you’re not family . . . yet.” Shiro winked, and Keith groaned. 

“Yeah, but- can I see him before they get here? And- and after?” Keith was already walking toward the door, ready to descend in the elevator and rush to his friend’s room. 

Shiro nodded. “Go ahead, kiddo.”

A unfamiliar stretch came across Keith’s face, and it took him a moment to realise he was smiling. 

“Thanks, Shiro!” He called, already ducking past his brother and hurrying to the elevator. 

“Just don’t run too fast! You might overwork your heart!”

Keith rolled his eyes, knowing that Shiro couldn’t see him anymore. Waiting anxiously for the elevator to ding open, Keith rocked back and forth on his heels. Once the doors were open, the boy practically skipped inside, stabbed the level 2 button and smiled some more. 

Lance’s family was coming. 

They were coming to see him. 

Bursting out on the second floor, Keith hurried to Lance’s room. He flung the door open, unaware of his messy hair that had been ruffled from the pillows of his cot. However, when he saw Lance, his smile faded and his hopes deflated. 

Lance was crying. 

“Hey . . . what’s wrong?” Keith asked, carefully crawling onto the bed beside Lance. 

Lance shrugged pathetically, letting his head fall limply on Keith’s shoulder. Keith, not used to such open gestures of trust and affection, felt his cheeks warm and his heart hammer. 

Not sure where to put his hands, Keith settled them at his sides, leaning over to see Lance’s face. 

“I, uh . . . I heard your family was coming to visit. Aren’t you happy to see them again?”

Lance shook his head. “They’re the reason I wanted to leave . . .” he whispered, his head growing heavier on Keith’s shoulder. 

Keith bit his lip, unsure how to carry on the conversation. Instead, he rested a hand on Lance’s head, raking his fingers through the other boy’s hair. 

“What about your mom?”

Lance shrugged, not saying anything. 

Keith sighed, wishing there was some way he could just take away all of Lance’s pain. He wished there was a way they could both just . . . disappear. He was sick of living within the confines of these hospital walls. All the tiles looked the same, all the food tasted bland. Everything was a constant here, but the patients. The people were the only things that changed. He wished, for more than once in his life, that he could be one of the patients that healed. He wished he could leave. He wished he could take Lance with him. Just . . . leave. He wanted everything to work out perfectly. He wanted a happy ending. 

But that was impossible. 

Lance just started taking pills a few days ago to help him with his depression. Keith was no where near getting a healthy heart transplant, and he had no idea where the two of them would even disappear to. 

Keith’s eyes fell to his lap. His jacket wasn’t zipped up all the way, so he could see more of his skin than he was comfortable with. For a slight moment, he panicked. Lance could probably see down his shirt!

Just as he was about to shuffle away, Lance sprung up into a sitting position. 

“I don’t want to see my papa again. Not after what he did.”

Keith nodded, the hand he had been using to run through Lance’s hair falling into his lap. He wondered if it smelled like shampoo. 

“I don’t want to have to see my mother. I don’t want to see the hurt I caused. I don’t want to see how much I tore my family apart.”

“Lance-” Keith started, scooting closer to his friend, “I’m sure they’ll all be happy to see you-”

“No,” Lance shook his head. “Papa will be furious. My mom will be so sad, she . . . she probably won’t even look at me. My brothers, my sisters . . . they won’t understand. They’ll think I’m a freak-”

“Hey,” Keith tried again, “Don’t talk like that. If your family really cares about you, they’ll try to understand. They’ll try to help you. If they really care about you, they won’t let this happen again. If they really love you . . . they’ll be here for you.”

Lance’s eyes glazed over, and Keith wondered if he had said something wrong. Then Lance spoke again. 

“You mean . . . the way you’re always here for me?”

Keith gulped. 

_Shit._

Did he know?

“Umm . . . sure-” Keith squeaked. “Y’know, like, for support. I care about you, so, I’m here. Supporting. That’s what I do. I support.”

Lance’s gaze flitted up to meet Keith’s, and the boy quickly looked away, his cheeks feeling warmer than they should. 

“Support? Are you kidding me?” Lance started to laugh. “You’re really bad at this, you know.”

“Wha-” Keith blanched, glaring at Lance. “Bad at what?!”

A soft, delicate yet deadly smirk crossed over Lance’s lips, causing Keith’s heart to have more than one dysfunctional trait. 

“Bad at flirting,” Lance said cooly. 

Keith’s eyes grew wide. “F- _flirting?!_ I am _not_ flirting with you!” By now Keith’s face was redder than his socks. “Why would you even think that? I just- I just want you to be safe- and, and I just want you to be happy- I’m being _nice._ I am _not,_ under any circumstances, _flirting_ with you.”

Lance cocked an eyebrow at Keith. “So, you don’t . . . like me?”

“God no, how dense _are_ you?” Keith barked back, turning himself away from Lance so the boy couldn’t see his obvious blush. 

“Okay, I may be dense, but I’m not oblivious, Keith.”

Keith glared over his shoulder at Lance. 

“It’s okay,” Lance said, sounding like he actually meant it. “I . . . I like you, too.”

Now - even the slightest, erratic flutter of Keith’s heart could have been enough to be catastrophic if at just the right time. Even the smallest, out of tune heartbeat could send him crashing to the floor in pain and agony. The slightest skip in his chest could cause death. 

Sitting there, on Lance’s bed, Keith thought he was going to collapse. 

His hand flung to his chest, gripping at the fabric there as his heart leaped into overtime. 

“Keith?” Lance asked, “What happened? Are you okay?”

After Keith regained his breath, shocked by the miracle that had just occurred, he nodded his head. 

“Y-yeah, I’m okay. I just . . . what?” Keith risked looking back into Lance’s eyes. 

They were shining brighter than ever. 

He smiled, and Keith - once again, thought he might die.

“I said I like you, mullet boy,” Lance teased, playfully punching Keith’s arm. 

There was a minute of silence before Keith managed a horse, “Why?”

Lance chuckled, and that alone was enough to make Keith feel like he was soaring over the clouds. 

“Because, you’re cute. And you’re nice- well, you’re nice to _me,_ anyway. And your eyes are really beautiful. Your laugh is gorgeous, and I love it when you smile. You’re just . . . so pretty-”

“Stop-” Keith gasped, feeling his heart constrict in his chest unhealthily. 

“I don’t want to,” Lance said, and Keith could hear the smile in the boy’s voice. “You make me want to live, Keith.”

“Stop, please-” Keith pleaded, the pain in his chest increasing. “God, you’re going to kill me-”

“That’s okay,” Lance said smoothly, “I know CPR.”

“Fuck- Lance, shut up-”

“What, so you can flirt but I can’t?”

“Just- please, just shut up for a second. I need to . . . I need to breathe-”

Lance didn’t respond. 

Maybe he actually started to understand that something was wrong. 

Keith clamped his eyes shut, his hand gripping his chest so tightly he could have sworn he was drawing blood. 

“Are you okay?” Lance asked, sounding worried. “Do I need to get someone?”

“N-no,” Keith breathed, “Just . . . just lay down-”

Keith himself collapsed on Lance’s cot, letting his messy hair fall onto his pillow as he kept his eyes closed. 

“Are you sure you don't need anyone?” Lance asked, and Keith could feel his body sink down onto the covers beside him. 

Keith shook his head. “All I need right now is you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is trash.


	14. Visitors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of just a fluff chapter, but you get an insight on Lance's family. Hope you enjoy! As always, comments are appreciated, and I LOVE YOU ALL :)

**April 14, 2017**

**Garrison Hospital**

**Room 233**

“Keith,” Shiro announced, poking his head into the doorway, “You’ve got to leave now, Lance’s family is here.”

Keith nodded, casting Lance another short, sympathetic glance. “Alright. I’ll be back in a few hours,” Keith told his friend, leaving with a small smile. He waved goodbye to Lance, hoping to brush off some courage and hope toward the younger boy with the simple flick of his wrist. Lance looked so worried; so trapped. 

Keith hated to leave him. 

He hated to go when he saw just how much Lance was suffering inside. 

“I’ll be back,” Keith said with a promising smile, then disappeared into the hallway, where he accidently bumped into a stranger. 

“Oh- sorry,” Keith apologized, his eyes shooting down to his Vans. 

When there was no response, Keith glanced up to see a pair of familiar blue eyes in a face he had never seen before. The same frosted lake, but a different topography altogether. This man’s face was harsh and rugged, with an overly defined jawline and prickly-looking stubble. His glare was fierce, as if he was trying to boil the lakewater in his eyes with sheer willpower. That glare was focused on Keith. 

“So you’re the boy who’s been stalking around Lance?” He asked harshly. 

Keith flinched under the man’s tone. 

“Oh, quiet down,” A woman (probably the man’s wife) piped up, “You should just be glad our son has made a new friend. And look how handsome he is!” 

Keith blushed under the small praise, putting it together that these were Lance’s parents. His mom seemed nice enough, but his dad . . . yeesh. Keith could tell why they didn’t get along so well. There was also the fact that he had abused Lance, and his wife, God knows how many times. 

Keith couldn’t help but glare at Lance’s father. 

“Alright Mr. and Mrs. McClain, how about I take you into your son’s room and you can speak to him face to face?” Shiro asked politely, going back to his practiced Doctor’s tone. “I understand that the rest of your family is in the waiting room?”

Lance’s mother nodded. “They’ll be able to see him after us?”

“Of course,” Shiro answered. 

Keith glanced away from Lance’s father to set his gaze on his mother instead. In her eyes shone motherly concern - something Keith had never seen firsthand before. He was glad that Lance had such a sweet woman to look after him, but he couldn’t help but feel a little envious. 

“Right this way,” Shiro said, leading the McClain parents into Lance’s room. 

Sighing, Keith wondered how long Lance’s family would stay here. Hours, maybe? Days? How long until he would be able to see him again?

He didn’t want what happened to Rolo happen to Lance. He didn’t want to walk out of his room, oblivious. He didn’t want to pretend that everything would be okay - he’d be lying to himself, and giving himself false hope. He didn’t want to walk out of Lance’s room blind and alone. 

Sulking his way down the hall and to the elevator, Keith rode upward a floor to get to his own room. Once there, he picked up his iPad, flopping down on the guest chair. 

PLAY. 

“Lance is scared, and rightfully so. I saw the fright in his eyes as I walked out of his room, leaving him alone with his parents. I saw how terrified he was to face his dad - the man who abused and disowned him. 

“I hate the man already. 

“What kind of parent would be so cruel as to harm the beauty they brought forth into this life? What kind of parent would willingly throw away the best thing that has ever happened to them? I don’t quite understand the entirety of the situation, but I do know with absolute certainty that Lance needs help, and his father is far from the aid that he needs. 

“His mother, the poor woman . . . she seems so happy, but I can’t even begin to fathom the pain she’s hiding underneath her stretched smile and shimmering eyes. I wonder how the rest of the family functions. I wonder if any of the others are as desperate to leave their father as Lance is. I wonder if anyone else would be willing to do what Lance was to escape. God, I hope not. 

“All I want to do is help. Though, I’m beginning to find that it’s harder than I’m letting on. 

“Because Lance revealed something to me. Something personal. Something that I was too ashamed to admit myself, and something that I would never be brave enough to voice. 

“He said . . . he told me he liked me.”

A small smile spread over Keith’s lips, and he heard the lightness that had entered his voice when he spoke those words. 

“He likes me.

“By God, he actually likes me . . .” Keith’s grin widened, and he had to hide it in his sleeve for a moment before continuing. 

“This is something entirely different,” Keith decided, “Because this isn’t Rolo. I’m not oblivious this time, and I actually have a chance. It’s different - and miraculously so. It’s a fantasy. A dream. 

“And this time . . . I don’t want to wake up.”

STOP. 

Lightly setting his iPad down, Keith tried to force his smile to wither away, but to no avail. 

Eventually, he picked it back up, plucking up his stylus separately so he could begin working on another artwork. 

Scribbling down the outline of his face, Keith made sure to give himself a simple, satisfied smile and a closed pair of eyes. He lay on his cot, which was floating above the tiles without any supports. Keith gave the bed itself a faint glow - blue, like Lance’s eyes. And where his bare skin touched the sheets, the light flickered into a neon purple. Above his head, Keith wrote in neat, practiced handwriting, “IT’S A FANTASY. A DREAM. AND THIS TIME . . .” Then, below, he finished the sentence, “I DON’T WANT TO WAKE UP.”

Looking over the drawing with satisfaction, Keith slid the iPad cover back into its respected place, then lightly hopped out of bed. 

It was a while before he was able to see Lance again, but eventually, the time came. 

**Cafeteria.**

“So, how’s your family?” Keith asked, plopping down in the seat next to Lance. 

Pidge and the others weren’t there yet, but Keith could hear the young girl bounding down the hall already, her brother in tow. Hunk and Shay were gathering up food for dinner, leaving Lance and Keith alone at the table for a minute or two. 

Keith had already gotten his lunch: a delicious looking pile of creamy mashed potatoes and country fried chicken with the addition of a Fruit by the Foot. Mrs. Gentry was back, along with her marvelous cooking skills and generous junk food. 

Lance shrugged in response to Keith’s question. “They’re okay, I guess. My mom was really worried, but that’s just Rosa being Rosa. My papa didn’t really talk to me. Just sat in the chair and stared at the floor. I got to see my sisters and brother, though. That was . . . nice.”

Something about Lance’s tone made it sound like he was far away or mentally elsewhere. Keith’s eyebrows knit together with worry. 

“Your family’s okay?” He checked. 

Lance nodded silently. Then, scooting closer to Keith, Lance slipped his tan hand into Keith’s pale one, sending a wave of warmth across the boy’s cheeks. 

“L-Lance-” Keith stuttered. 

Lance’s grip tightened on Keith’s hand. “It was hard,” He admitted, “Seeing them again, after what I did. It was hard.”

Keith squeezed back reassuringly. “I’m sure it was. It can’t be easy coming forward the way you did. The way you were _forced_ to, really. Of course it was hard. I can’t ima-”

“Whaddup, losers?” 

Keith scowled at Pidge, who had so rudely interrupted their conversation. 

“Get lost,” He fired back.

“Well looks like _someone_ didn’t get enough beauty sleep last night.” Pidge joked, Matt standing by her side with a plate of potatoes and chicken. Matt simply greeted the boys with a head nod, then took a seat next to his gremlin of a sister at the table. 

“Hey Pidge,” Lance greeted halfheartedly. 

“Nice to know at least someone here respects my authority,” Pidge muttered, sending a small glare in Keith’s direction. 

The boy rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

Matt’s eyes seemed to travel back and forth between Keith and Lance, a smile started to tug at the corner of his mouth. 

“So . . . you two together now, or . . . ?”

Keith’s cheeks fumed a deep red, remembering that he was still holding Lance’s hand. Quickly jerking away, Keith blurted out a defensive, “No!” the same time Lance perked up in his seat with an exclaimed, “Yes!”

Matt grinned. “Cute.”

Pidge cringed. “You disgust me, Kogane.”

Keith shot Lance a betrayed look. “But- we’re _not-”_

Lance patted Keith’s head with his long, gentle fingers. “We are now, m’kay?”

“Wha-”

“You guys are so dysfunctional,” Pidge commented. 

“Oh be quiet, I think it’s adorable.”

Keith turned to see Shay Anamoni and Hunk Garrett taking the last two remaining seats at the table. Shay was the one who had spoken. 

Keith groaned and let his head flop onto the table, hoping no one could see the red in his cheeks. 

There was a soft, fairy-like giggle, and Keith cursed Shay for being such an optimistic, likable person. 

“I hate all of you,” Keith mumbled.


	15. A Perfect Match

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter, so sorry about that. I hope you like it nonetheless :)

**April 14, 2017**

**Garrison Hospital**

**Cafeteria**

A strong, familiar hand rested on Keith’s shoulder. 

“Keith, can I speak with you for a moment?” Shiro asked. 

Glancing over his shoulder, Keith excused himself from the table when he saw the concern in his brother’s eyes. 

“Yeah, what about?” Keith asked, sliding off of his seat to follow Shiro down the hall. 

Shiro gave no answer as they continued down the corridor. Keith began to feel a bit uneasy, but kept pace with the doctor. Once they were alone, Shiro turned to face his little brother, an undoubtedly look of sympathy glaring across his features. 

“It’s about Lance,” Shiro said. 

Keith’s breath caught in his chest. “Wh- what about him?” He wondered. 

Shiro moved as if he was rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and trying to wake up. “While he was talking to his family, Thace and I had a chance to go through some of Lance’s test results-”

“Is he okay?” Keith asked, feeling panic sink into his bones. 

Shiro nodded. “Yes, he’s doing much better. There’s nothing wrong. But- Keith . . .” Shiro’s eyes glazed over, and Keith could’ve sworn he was about to cry. 

“What?” Keith asked, ignoring the shakiness in his voice. “What’s wrong?”

Shiro shook his head, like he couldn’t believe he was confiding this information with Keith. 

“He’s the perfect match, Keith.”

The boy’s blood ran cold. 

His mind began to fog up, and it became hard for him to process Shiro’s next words. 

“There hasn’t been another patient this adequate for a heart surgery in decades. I’m obligated to tell you that . . . if anything ever happened to him . . . if we knew he wasn’t going to make it- I’d have to go through with the surgery. I’d have to give you his heart, Keith.”

The world around Keith seemed to spin and tilt in all sorts of directions. He rested his hand on the wall to keep him from collapsing, and closed his eyes to try and stop the spinning. 

“No,” He finally croaked. 

“Keith-”

“I said no, Shiro,” Keith rasped, feeling tears form in his eyes and spill over his cheeks. “I don’t want it. It’s his, and we have to keep it that way. I’m not going to accept it. I can’t. I- I can’t lose him, Shiro.”

“Keith, it’s not a certainty. It’s just a precaution. If anything happens to him, we’re obliged to go through with the surgery. I’m telling you this so you can keep him safe. Because if he gets hurt, and if he won’t make it . . . he’ll be yours.”

“He’s mine right now!” Keith said defensively. “He’s mine. Right now. And he’s going to stay that way-”

“Keith,” Shiro said, resting his hands on the boy’s shoulders in a somewhat reassuring manner, “I understand-”

“No, you don’t!” Keith shouted, flinching away from his brother’s touch. “You don’t. Because if you did, you wouldn’t be telling me this! You-” Keith’s eyes suddenly widened as a horrific possibility became clear in his mind. “You . . . you can’t tell Lance.”

“Keith, we have to. By law, it’s-”

“I don’t care, Shiro. You can’t tell him.”

Shiro scowled disapprovingly. “Keith-”

“Promise me you won’t tell him. You can’t.”

“But . . . why?”

Keith furiously wiped away a tear that had fallen down his cheek. “Because . . . if he knew he could save me . . . he wouldn’t hesitate. He’d-” A silents sob caught in the boy’s throat. “He’d kill himself, Shiro-”

Understanding passed over the young man’s face, along with sympathy and dread. 

“You can’t tell him. Please,” Keith begged. 

Shiro sighed, and Keith knew he was weighing his option. Withholding information like this bordered the fence of illegal acts. 

“Please,” Keith repeated. 

Shiro stole a glance over his little brother’s shoulder, probably looking at the table where Lance and the other’s sat. It took him a minute, but finally, he said, “Alright. I won’t tell.”

Keith launched his arms around his brother in a desperate embrace. “Thank you so much-”

“Yeah, sure. Just . . . don’t tell anyone else, either, okay? I could lose my job.”

“Of course!” Keith exclaimed, pulling away from his brother. “My lips are sealed.”

Shiro raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, until you get your hands on that iPad again.”

Keith paused. “I’ll make sure I’m alone and I lock the door before I spill all my secrets to my Apple device.”

Shiro pursed his lips. Then, realizing there was no point in arguing, he said, “Fine. Now go finish your dinner.”

Keith nodded, wiping away the last of his tears as he returned to the table. 

“What was that about?” Pidge questioned once he had returned. 

Keith shrugged as nonchalantly as possible. “Nothing,” he answered vaguely. 

He then waved off the suspicious looks everyone gave him, hoping his eyes weren't too red from crying just seconds ago. 

Taking a seat next to Lance, Keith made a conscious effort to hold the boy’s hand. When he noticed the grin that spread over Lance’s face, he couldn't help but smile himself. 

_He’s mine right now. And he's going to stay that way._


	16. Apartment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little warning - there are a few suggestive comments in this chapter having to do with Shiro and Matt's history. Again, I hope you enjoy, and I LOVE YOU ALL! X)

**April 14, 2017**

**Apartment Complex**

**Building 3, Room number 12**

“We’re a perfect match. 

“That’s what Shiro told me, earlier today, at the Hospital. He told me that Lance and I . . . that we’re a perfect match. 

“I can’t stop twisting those words and giving them new meanings. I can’t stop fantasizing about just how perfect we are for each other. No matter how many times I tell myself it’s just another coincidence put in my path to test my state of mind, I can’t stop fabricating outcomes in which the two of us click into our perfect, destined places in the universe. No matter how many facts there are stacked against me, I can’t stop thinking that this is some sort of sign. He has the power to save me, in the same sense I have the ability to keep him alive. 

“We’re a perfect match. 

“We’re both broken, beaten and bruised, but together, we’re perfect. 

“But separate . . . I feel as if we’d be nothing. Shattered pieces that don’t rightfully fit together. Missing teeth to a skull that doesn’t belong. We’d be broken beyond repair. 

“That’s why he can’t know. He can’t save me by sacrificing himself. If he did . . . he’d break me. He’d leave me in this Godforsaken world, with a heart that isn’t mine, and a mind that’s plagued by death; yet the desperation to stay alive. Because if I died . . . he would be killed a second time. His heart - _our_ heart - would stop beating. Together, we would end. 

“I won’t let him drown. I’ve already said this. I refuse to let go. I refuse. 

“I’ve already lost my Prince. I can’t bare to lose my Knight in Shining Armour.”

STOP.

Keith lightly pressed the record button, ending his entry for the day. 

Tonight Shiro had offered to have Keith stay in his apartment, as he so often did. 

The place was always homey and smelled of either burnt popcorn or dirty laundry - sometimes both. Either way, it was better than the acrid scent of the hospital that seemed permanently lodged into Keith’s nostrils. 

As of now, all the furniture was in its rightful place: the brown couch in front of the television, the small table crammed into the corner of the kitchen, along with two chairs (one more worn in than the other). There was the hideous table lamp Shiro refused to get rid of because it was a gift from his grandmother who had passed away a few years ago, the cream colored curtains blocking rays of sunlight in the early mornings, and the stained stove that Shiro used to torture any form of meat, vegetable, or noodle. The man may be an excellent doctor, but his cooking skills were nowhere that of his medical. Keith was glad he ate at the hospital before coming to Shiro’s apartment. 

Alright, so it was technically _his_ apartment, too. He had his own bed, complete with the small blanket that had been wrapped about his petite body when his parents handed him over to the doctor’s without an explanation. He had his own chair at the table, and even his own groceries labeled with his name that he paid for himself. 

It was a modest apartment, especially for someone of his wealth. Working as a skillful doctor payed good money, but Shiro wasn’t interested in spending it on living conditions. In fact, he had been saving up for Keith to go to college one day. 

He still remembered the day Shiro offered to pay for his education. 

_“I’m not even going to live that long-” Keith had muttered into his cup of steaming hot chocolate. It had been unseasonably cold for early March in Louisiana, and Shiro had brewed up a warm beverage after the two of them had been walking around outside for a bit too long. Keith’s fingers were still a little numb, but the heat of his cup helped warm his chilling bones._

_“What did you say?” Shiro asked, stirring his own cup of hot chocolate with a small, metal spoon._

_Keith had requested coffee, but Shiro, being the overprotective brother that he was, said he wouldn’t allow a 12 year old to become addicted._

_“Nothing,” Keith said softly, blowing into his mug to cool it down._

_Shiro had sighed, placing his mug down without taking a sip. “Keith, I’d appreciate it if you just let me help you. I’ve been trying for years. I took you in, and made sure you were safe. Yet you seem hesitant to trust me. I’m just trying to help.”_

_“You don’t have to pay for my college, though. I’m only 12, Shiro. And, let’s be honest, I probably won’t even make it to 17-”_

_“Keith!” Shiro shouted, slamming his hand down on the counter._

_Keith had flinched, spilling a drop of hot chocolate on his lap._

_“Please, I-” Shiro’s voice broke, and Keith glanced up at his older brother. There were tears in his eyes. “Please, Keith. Don’t talk like that. I . . . I hate it when you talk like this.”_

_Keith stared down at his lap, watching the hot chocolate soak into his pajama bottoms. “I’m sorry,” He whispered quietly._

_“I just-” Shiro took a deep breath, running his hands through his black hair. “It sounds like you’ve already given up. I’m trying to help you plan a life, and make sure it’ll be a happy one, and you sound like you don’t even care, because ‘you’re not even going to live that long’.”_

_“I’m sorry,” Keith repeated._

_“It’s fine,” Shiro said curtly. “Just . . . please, just let me do this for you. I want to pay for your college. I have more than enough saved up already. Just let me do this for you.”_

_Keith had nodded, eyes still trained on the cocoa spill on his lap. “Okay.”_

Shiro had always made decisions with Keith in mind. He was always ready to help him, and wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice his right arm for his little brother. 

Keith, on the other hand, was always more inclined to think of what he could do now to make his brother’s life easier once he wasn't around anymore. He tried to think of ways he could save money for Shiro to use once he passed away. He thought of buying new appliances that worked better than his old stove and dented microwave. He thought of purchasing items that would make it easier for one to just . . . live. He tried his best to move forward and piece Shiro’s life together while he was still around. He wanted to help his brother before he had to leave. Even after death, Keith was convinced he was going to help Shiro through the money he had spent for his brother and the items he had put aside for when he left. It was just how he thought. 

Now though, Keith wasn't sure how to think. He was confused. He wasn't sure in which direction he would take his next step. He wasn't confident in the next move he was going to make. All he was sure about was the fact that he and Lance were meant to be. 

A perfect match. 

And even though Keith was terrified for what the future had in store for him, for now, this was enough. Because Lance was with him. And they were perfect. Even though Keith was scared, he knew he'd be alright so long as Lance stood by his side, with his hand in Keith’s. So long as his heart was in his chest and his lungs were pumping, everything was perfect. 

 

**Building 3, Room Number 12**

“So you and Matt, huh?” Keith asked suggestively. 

Shiro sighed, eyes closing as he slowly lowered himself onto his bed. “I don’t want to talk about it,” Was all he said. 

Keith laughed, not giving up just yet. “Oh c’mon! Were you two dating? Or were you just fuc- er, I mean, bed buddies?”

“Nice save,” Shiro muttered. “And yes.”

“Yes what?” Keith asked, scooting closer to his brother. He was currently sitting with his legs crossed atop the covers of Shiro’s bed. Dressed simply in one of Shiro’s old T-shirts and his black boxers, Keith felt as comfortable as ever.

“Yes we dated. Yes we were bed buds.”

Keith’s eyes widened. “So you guys have had sex?”

Shiro pulled the covers up and over his head. “That’s not what I said-”

“You said you were bed buds,” Keith dead panned. 

“Yeah, well- we never . . . you know.”

Keith, feeling a little chill on his pale, bare legs, tucked them underneath the sheets to warm up, sliding into the bed next to his brother. “Did you want to?”

There was a long, drawn out sigh. “Of course I wanted to, I was a hormonal teenager. That doesn’t mean that I _did_ do it, though.”

“How far have you guys gone?”

“Keith, I know you’re curious, but can we please not have this conversation right now?”

“Then when _can_ we have it?”

“When you’re 25 and have lost your virginity-”

Keith smacked a pillow into Shiro’s face, still hidden under the sheets. He chuckled to himself. “That’s not fair!” He whined. 

Shiro pulled the sheets off his face, revealing a smile. “Life’s not fair.”

“Yeah, no shit-”

“Language,” Shiro said, more out of habit than an actual scolding. He was laughing. 

“Not but seriously!” Keith said, scooting closer to his brother. “Did you really like him?”

“Of course I did, Keith. We were dating.”

“What was it like, kissing him?” Keith wondered, his eyes wandering down to his hands which were mindlessly fiddling with the edges of the covers. 

When Shiro spoke, Keith could hear the smile in his voice. “It was like fire. It was exhilarating, and beautiful, but dangerous. With Matt Holt, I never knew when I was going to get burned, or how far I was able to take it.”

“So . . . it was good?”

“It was amazing,” Shiro decided. 

For a moment, Keith let the silence settle between them. His breath filled the dark corners of the room, and his eyes wandered about the apartment, looking for something that wasn’t there. 

After a couple minutes, he spoke again. 

“Do you think . . . maybe one day . . . I’ll be able to kiss someone like that?”

Shiro shifted on the bed, turning to face his little brother. There was a small smile playing at his lips, barely visible in the dark of the night. 

“I don’t doubt it,” Shiro said confidently. “But I also don’t doubt that I’ll forbid you from kissing the way Matt and I did until you’re married.”

Keith smacked him with another pillow. 

He was running out of projectiles. 

“Oh my God, was it really that aggressive?” Keith asked in between spurts of laughter. 

“It was . . . intense,” Shiro admitted.

Keith rolled his eyes, his nose crinkling up. “That’s disgusting.”

“Just wait,” Shiro said, “You won’t think that ten years from now.”

Keith shrugged, knowing that he already didn’t think that way. He shrugged, knowing that that was what he craved. A kiss. Just a small one. A kiss that let him know that everything would be okay. A kiss that confirmed there was actually someone out there who loved him. 

“I dunno,” Keith said softly, more to himself than to his brother. “Maybe it won’t ever happen.”

“What do you mean?” Shiro asked, his voice tender and careful. 

“I mean, no one would want to kiss me.”

“Lance,” Shiro said without a single second of hesitation. 

His quick response caused Keith to hide his reddening face in the sheets. 

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you, Keith. That’s a smitten boy if I’ve ever seen one.”

Keith groaned. “Shut up.” Tucking himself into a tighter ball on the bed, Keith hid his smile with a bundle of blankets. 

God, could he imagine? Kissing Lance?

That would be a fucking dream come true.  


	17. Breakfast

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is super short, but talks more about Thace and his spouse. Sorry it's not as long as the others, but the next one will be SUPER long, and a LOT of stuff is going to happen. Hope you like it :)

**April 15, 2017**

**Apartment Complex**

**Building 3, Room Number 12**

When Keith awoke, he was in his own bed. Assuming that Shiro had carried him to bed after he had fallen asleep, Keith sleepily rose to his feet and headed into the kitchen. Shiro was already there, pouring a mix of eggs, salt and pepper into a heated pan on the stove. 

“You’re attempting omelettes?” Keith asked sleepily, taking a seat in his respective chair at the table. 

“Yup,” Shiro answered, “Did you want one egg or two?”

“Just one please,” Keith said, resting his head on the table. “Also, I prefer them unburned.”

“Ha. Ha,” Shiro laughed, mockery laced in each syllable. “You still tired?”

The smell of omelettes filled Keith’s nostrils, causing his stomach to growl with hunger. “Eh,” Keith groaned, “Yeah. And hungry.”

“Well, this is just about done.” 

Keith heard Shiro shuffling about in the kitchen, opening drawers and pulling out utensils for the two of them. “Did you want water or Almond Milk?”

Keith let out another groan. “I just want Milk.”

“You know I’m not gonna let that happen,” Shiro said, a tint of fatherly sternness seeping into his tone. “Your lactose intolerance may not be severe, but it’s still there.”

“Ugh, fine. Almond,” Keith answered, tucking his arms into the sleeves of his baggy T-shirt to help with the chilly morning air in the apartment. 

“You cold?” Shiro asked. 

“Eh,” Keith muttered in response. Then, remembering the conversation they had the night before, Keith perked upright, ready to hound his brother with more questions. “What base did you get to?”

Shiro faltered, hand raised over the pan with the omelette. “What?”

“You and Matt. What base?”

“Oh my- Keith, you’re still going on about this?” Shiro asked, looking at his little brother with obvious displeasure in his features. 

“Umm, _yeah,_ I want to know.”

Shiro sighed. “Third, but no farther than that.”

Keith mentally tried to remember what third base really meant, summoning his memory of his Google search history to try and piece it together. “Okay,” Keith said, nodding as he started to understand. “So . . .”

“So nothing,” Shiro said, scrapping the omelette off the pan and onto a polished white plate for Keith. He set the meal in front of his little brother, then poured him a glass of Almond Milk.

“You didn’t even put cheese on it,” Keith complained. 

Shiro scowled. “Lac. Tose. In. Tolerant. KEITH.” He reminded. 

Keith rolled his eyes. “You could have just done a little,” He muttered. 

“Not gonna risk it.”

“Okay, so back to your sexuality,” Keith said, struggling to get his arm back out the sleeve so he could eat. “How many guys have you dated? Anyone else I know?”

Shiro remained silent as he cracked open a couple more eggs and mixed them up with salt and pepper before pouring it into the pan. “Well,” He started, “You know Doctor Thace?”

Keith’s mouth dropped open. “You’re shitting me.”

“No no no, just- listen. I had always thought he was kind of cute. Then I found out he was gay-”

“Holy shit-”

“Keith. Language,” Shiro scolded. “Anyway, when I found out he was gay, I risked asking him out. Big mistake on my part.”

“Why’s that?” Keith asked, taking a bite out of his freshly made omelette.

“Well, he laughed, said he was flattered, but that he and his husband were very happy together.”

“Oooooooh,” Keith said with a mouthful of omelette, trying not to laugh. “So who’s his husband?”

Shiro sprinkled bits of grated cheese (much to Keith’s dismay) over the omelette he was preparing. “Some guy named Ulaz. Supposedly the two of them used to be in a gang together, but when things got dangerous, and the leader wanted them to do something miled beyond the law, they left. Also, homosexuality wasn’t exactly looked up to within the gang, so they were already being stomped on by their boss. It did a number on Thace’s record, but after so many years, he was able to become a Doctor. Said he wanted to start saving people instead of hurting them.”

“Dang. Thace was in a gang?” Keith asked, taking another bite. “Does that mean he has a motorcycle? Do you think I could get a ride? Oh, but what about Ulaz?”

“Yes he was, the motorcycle is his husband’s, no I won’t let you ride it, and Ulaz is actually working in a nearby machine shop. I’ve spoken to him a few times. Dude’s intimidating, but really nice once you get to know him.”

“Wow awesome! When do I get to meet him?” Keith asked eagerly. 

Shiro just shrugged, putting sliced pieces of ham on his omelette before scrapping it off onto a plate for himself. 

“These actually aren’t bad,” Keith commented as he took another bite. 

“Good. I’m glad you finally see I’m not as horrible a cook as you make me out to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALSO IT'S LANCE'S BIRTHDAY TODAY AND I'M FLIPPING THE HECK OUT. 
> 
> ONLY 7 MORE DAYS UNTIL SEASON 3, WHO'S GONNA STAY UP ALL NIGHT TO WATCH IT WITH ME?!


	18. Garden Wishes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crow I haven't updated in forever I'm so sorry! Here's a cute chapter for you guys, I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!!! Comments are ALWAYS appreciated, and I'd LOVE feedback! Enjoy~

**April 15, 2017**

**Garrison Hospital**

**Room 217**

A young looking man lay on an untouched cot, his unnaturally orange hair sprawled about his scalp like some sort of fiery halo. Eyes closed and arms unmoving, the gentleman remained asleep for the second year since his arrival. 

Keith didn't know much about him, just that Shiro regularly checked his vitals and made sure he was staying alive while in his state of slumber. Coran Ellis had been in a coma for 23 months and 7 days, with little to no visitors. The most frequent family member to check in to the hospital to see the Australian was his niece, Aubrey Ellis. She was there now, sitting in the guest chair as Shiro scanned the monitors surrounding Coran, and Keith stood awkwardly in the doorway with Lance. She always reminded Keith of dying embers in a bonfire, the occasional flick of fire burning through her face and showing as freckles. The dark smoke seeping through her eyes, and the still steaming coals scalding through her bright hair. 

Being a 20 year old genius who already excelled in the most rewarding college in the US, Aubrey was a woman of grit and success. She always knew what she wanted, and dodged every bullet, hopped every fence and crossed every bridge to get it. She didn't know the definition of failure, and carried herself with such dignity and purpose that one would assume she held the title of nobility or rank of a government official. 

Keith had decided years ago that if he were to ever date a woman, he'd date Aubrey Ellis. 

“Ahh, Keith,” Aubrey said with formality, standing as she greeted the boy. “I see you're not alone. Who's your friend?”

“Aubrey, this is Lance,” Keith introduced, gesturing to the Cuban with pride. “And Lance, this is Aubrey.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Lance,” Aubrey said kindly, her thick Australian accent making her sound more professional than ever. She reached out to shake his hand. 

Lance shyly took it, looking a tad insecure. 

“No need to be shy. I'm not known to bite,” Aubrey reassured, smiling.  

Lance nodded, pulling his hand away to lace his fingers with Keith's. Keith, coming to the understanding that Lance is a very touchy person, didn't argue with the gesture, and instead squeezed his hand for comfort. 

Aubrey’s eyes shifted between the two for a moment before she smiled, then turned to talk to Shiro about her Uncle. 

While the two of them spoke, Lance leaned over and whispered into Keith's ear. “Who is she?” He asked. 

“Her name’s Aubrey. She's the man's niece. She comes here a lot to visit, and she's usually alone.”

“Oh. And the man?” Lance asked. 

“Coran,” Keith explained, “Don't know much about him. Just that he's old and won't wake up.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, Keith,” Shiro intervened, “Why don't you show Lance around the gardens? I don't think he's seen it yet.”

Keith wrinkled his nose in distaste. “You mean . . . go outside?” 

Shiro nodded. “Yeah, go on. I'm going to speak with Aubrey. We could use some privacy.”

“Fine,” Keith sighed, dragging Lance out of the room and down the hall. He had never been an outdoors type, though he supposed that could be because he's never really seen any nature aside from the gardens at the hospital, and the paved road to the apartment. With nothing to compare it to, Keith always thought the outdoors were boring. 

“The gardens?” Lance asked, sounding a lot more excited than Keith felt. 

The boy nodded. His hand had started to feel sweaty from holding Lance’s, but he wasn't about to complain. Besides, it was nice holding hands. 

“Yeah. They're just out back. Nothing special. But I guess if you've never seen them before, it can't hurt to take a look.”

The two young boys made their way outside, where the sun was shining overhead, the breeze provided the occasional chill, and the flowers bloomed with little to no control. 

Keith gestured unceremoniously about himself. “So, this is the garden.” He announced with a lack of enthusiasm. “We’ve got dirt, flowers, and other green stuff. Feel free to smell anything, just watch your step.” After his small briefing, Keith let go of Lance’s hand and made his way over to the cobblestone bench in between silverbell trees and surrounded by flourishing green grass. While sitting on the bench, one had the best view of the entire gardens. 

There were blushing magnolias bursting from the round, center bed, accompanied by birdfoot violets and bearded grass pink orchids, all crowded around the small fountain carrying cool spring water and people’s wishes. Keith had tossed a penny in the fountain years before, but ever since Rolo passed away, and Keith was deprived of the kiss he wished for, the raven haired boy vowed never to wish upon another penny again. It was nostalgic, sitting on this bench, staring out at the flowers they planted together and coins they filled with unrealistic expectations. It was hard, looking out at a world he helped to create with someone he would never see again. 

Glancing away from the fountain, Keith caught a glimpse of Lance leaning toward a vined wall of purple wisteria. 

With the sun rising behind Lance’s silhouette, the purple flowers crowned about him and the small smile spreading over his lips, it was hard to ignore his beauty. 

Keith found himself staring. 

And his heart hammering. 

Tucking his legs up into his chest, Keith hugged his knees closer to himself as he watched Lance take a whiff of the flowers. 

He was just wearing a simple white v-neck with ripped jeans and a blue flannel tied about his waist, so . . . why? God, why was he so attractive? Letting his eyes relax as they soaked in the image of the boy in front of him, Keith felt himself smile as he rested his cheek on his knees. Lance’s grin grew as he skipped over to another bed of flowers, pointing at the bright red and orange petals.

“What’re these ones?” He asked, turning to Keith for an answer.

Keith perked his head up. “Begonia,” He said. “They’re usually pink or red, but Ryner really liked the orange ones.”

“I like ‘em, too,” Lance said cheerfully, “She made the right choice.”

“Yeah, the orange ones are pretty,” Keith agreed. He continued watching Lance as he skipped about the gardens, eyes dancing about as they took in the different types of flowers and plants. Eventually, once Lance had seen every blade of grass and speck of dirt there was to see, he took a seat next to Keith. 

“Why don’t you like the garden?” He asked. 

Keith shrugged. “I’m more of an indoor person.”

Lance nodded. “So I noticed the pennies in the fountain. Is it too cheesy to ask if you wanna toss one with me?”

Keith’s heart constricted in his chest. He knew he wanted to say no. He knew he had promised himself he would never throw another penny in that damned fountain. And yet . . . looking at Lance’s hopeful, sparkling eyes, he felt it would be illegal to say no. 

“Umm . . . sure?” He said, still uneasy about the whole thing. 

This was his and Rolo’s fountain. His lover’s wishes. 

“Awesome!” Lance grinned. “I’ll go grab some pennies, m’kay?”

Keith nodded silently as Lance jumped to his feet, hurrying into the hospital to retrieve some coins for the two of them. 

After Lance had disappeared, Keith debated whether or not he should run. He didn’t feel comfortable enough to completely replace Rolo yet. He didn’t feel comfortable erasing his old wishes for new ones. 

Sitting alone, Keith wondered - not for the first time - if this is how it was supposed to be. 

Just him. Sitting alone, with nothing but unanswered prayers and dying flowers in the fall. Just him and his dysfunctional heart, sitting in the gardens with no hand to hold, no shoulder to cry on. He wondered if this is how his life was destined to turn out. 

As his hands started to shake and his doubts crowded every inch of his mind, the door burst open and Lance came running back out with a massive smile on his face. 

And it was then that Keith knew. 

He had to let go. 

Of his past. Of Rolo. He had to forget. 

Because _this_ is what he wanted. 

Lance. 

That dazzling smile, and those beautiful blue eyes. 

Rolo may have been Keith’s world, but Lance was starting to feel like Keith’s universe. 

He smiled back. “You got the pennies?”

Lance nodded. “Yup! Here.” Lance held out a sparkling new penny for Keith to take, keeping one for himself. 

Keith stood, deliberately holding Lance’s free hand with his own. 

“What are you gonna wish for?” Lance asked, making sure his hand was snug in Keith’s. 

“Well I’m not gonna tell you,” Keith said, “That would defeat the whole purpose.”

“Aww but it’s no fun if I don’t know!” Lance pouted. “Here, I’ll go first.” Lance dragged Keith over to the fountain. Small droplets of water occasionally splashed off the marble and onto Keith’s bare fingers and skin. 

Keith watched as Lance closed his eyes, a smile still lingering on his lips. 

“Hmm . . . I wish-”

“No, don’t say it out loud!” Keith protested, moving to cover Lance’s mouth. 

The taller boy just leaned away, chuckling. “Don’t tell me how to make my wishes. I’ve done this plenty of times, trust me.”

Keith rolled his eyes. “Fine. Just make your stupid wish.”

“Alright, alright.” Lance closed his eyes again, then took a deep breath. “I wish . . . I wish I could've met you sooner. That way, I wouldn't have had to go through the heartache of feeling inadequate and worthless. I wouldn't have had to grow up thinking I was alone, and that no one would love me. I could be happy, and alive. That way, I wouldn’t feel like a freak, and I could have reassurance that the way I feel about boys isn’t unnatural or cruel. But . . . I also wish I didn't meet you until later. That way, I could take you home with me and kiss you all night long. I could hold you in my arms for as long as I wanted, and it wouldn't seem inappropriate. I could wake up next to you, knowing that the marks I left on you the night before were sincere and full of love. That way, I could marry you and be with you forever.” Lance smiled at Keith, then tossed his penny into the fountain. 

“Well . . . shit,” Keith muttered, fanning his face as heat rose to his cheeks. “I was just going to wish it was Halloween so I could watch the second season of _Stranger Things_ , but . . . damn.”

“Sounds like a good wish to me,” Lance shrugged. “Go ahead, toss the penny. _Stranger Things_ is worth it.”

“What, no! I feel pathetic now. Your wish was-”

“Stupid and cheesy, I know,” Lance said, his cheeks reddening. 

“It was beautiful, and poetic,” Keith corrected. “And now, I feel like I have to top it.”

Lance shook his head. “Just throw the penny, Keith. You’re not the only one who wants season 2. Please, just throw it before I feel even more embarrassed.”

Keith shook his head, then slowly felt his smile fading. 

“You know, a few weeks ago, I would’ve wished Rolo would come back. I would’ve wished we had more time, and that I could kiss him under the stars, like I had always dreamed. But now . . . now that I’m here, with you . . . I wish I could forget everything, and just focus on the present. I wish I could erase how I felt about him, so I could train all those feelings on you, and no one else. I wish I could forget how much I liked him, and I wish- er, I hope, that . . . I hope I’m enough to save you. And that’s my final wish. I wish to be enough for you, Lance. I wish to be enough to make you stay, and keep you alive.” Keith squeezed Lance’s hand as he tossed his penny into the fountain, finding that he meant every single word. 

Lance also tightened his grip. 

“I think it’s safe to say your wish is already reality. You’re enough for me, Keith. So much more than enough.”


	19. Eavesdropping

**April 15, 2017**

**Garrison Hospital**

**Back Entrance**

“I’m concerned about the McClain boy. I was speaking to his family just moments ago, and they wish for him to come home immediately. I’m aware of the troubling knowledge concerning his father’s abusive actions, and I don’t recommend we meet their demands. However, if we don’t . . . his parents have threatened to sue.”

“Sue? What makes them think they can sue an entire medical company?”    

“It’s not the company they’re threatening to sue, Shiro. It’s me personally.”

“Wh- what for?”

“It seems they’ve managed to gather evidence of my troublesome background and plan to take it to court. They even have to gall to call my husband as a witness, accusing him of the same actions.”

“And you believe they have enough evidence to support their claim?”

“I’m afraid so. If the boy doesn’t return home within the week, I won’t only lose my job, but will most likely end up behind bars for God knows how long.”

Lance’s hand tightened around Keith’s, his other wrapping about the boy’s arm and hugging it to his chest. The two of them had stopped walking immediately after hearing Doctor Thace’s voice from beyond the doors of the hospital. Keith had thought nothing of it at first, until he heard Lance’s surname mixed into the conversation. 

“Keith-” Lance whispered. 

“Shh,” Keith cut him off, placing his free hand on Lance’s shoulder. 

“And you’re absolutely certain that they would go through with the threat?” Shiro asked for confirmation. 

“Absolutely.” Thace answered with unease. “Ulaz and I could end up in jail within months. But the boy . . . I refuse to send him back to Cuba. Mr. McClain is the number 1 reason he attempted suicide in the first place. I won’t let him under the same roof of that man.”

“What are you saying?” Shiro’s voice seemed to waver with uncertainty and a small pinch of terror. 

“I’m going to court.” Thace said. 

“No,” Lance breathed, his hair tickling the top of Keith’s head as Lance shook his head back and forth. 

“Shh!” Keith repeated, waiting to hear more from the doctors.

“Thace-” Shiro began to protest.

“If it means Lance can stay here, at the hospital, then I’ll go. I’ll take full responsibility of my actions, so long as the boy is in safe hands.”

“Thace . . .” Shiro said, sounded wounded, “You’re one of the best doctors at the Garrison. I can’t just let you-”

“This isn’t your choice to make, Shiro.”

“Is there a way you could win over the jury? Maybe, if you had a really strong defendant-”

“I’m afraid the possibility of that happening is very slim. I know very well the consequences that await me. I’ve been delaying the inevitable for quite some time now-”

“What about Ulaz? What about your husband?” Shiro questioned. 

“I’ll keep him out of it as much as I can. His punishment would be far less devastating than mine, considering he wasn’t there that night.”

Keith furrowed his brow in silent question, waiting for Shiro to respond. 

“Wasn’t where . . . ? What night?” Shiro asked. 

Thace sighed. “The details are unimportant as of now. All I care about is keeping the child safe and out of harm's-”

“Thace,” Shiro said, cutting him off mid sentence. His voice had changed, and Keith recognized it as his interrogation tone. “I understand that you were involved in some dark things in the past, but . . . is there something you haven’t told me? What happened? What’s so bad that could possibly end in a single sided court battle? What exactly are you guilty of?” 

Silence spread over the two doctors, as well as the eavesdropping kids. Keith waited in anticipation for Thace to answer. After about a minute, he was sure Thace wasn’t going to confide anything. Then he spoke. 

“I’m responsible for at least seven deaths.”

The unexpected news sent chills down Keith’s spine. Lance gasped from behind him, then covered his own mouth to keep quiet. 

“Thace?” Shiro spoke as if he were trying to earn the trust of a vicious dog. “What do you mean?”

“I killed them, Shiro. I . . .” Thace’s voice cut off with a wavering sob. “I-I killed them-”

Keith couldn’t see what was going on just past the doors, but he assumed Shiro had pulled Thace into a reassuring embrace by now, if he hadn’t already. 

“Thace. Can you tell me more?”

There was a pause. Then, “I understand,” Shiro said, “I’ll give you some time. But our conversation doesn’t end now. We’ll meet back up in my office tomorrow at the same time. Fair?”

“Yes. Thank you, Shiro.”

“Anything for you.”

Hearing a set of footsteps coming closer to the door, Keith grabbed Lance’s shirt and yanked him away, running back to the gardens.

“Oh my god,” Lance whispered under his breath as they shuffled back to the cobblestone bench. ”Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god- He _killed_ someone?! No, he killed _seven_ people?! Oh my god-”

“Lance shut up. Just look at the flowers and act natural.”

“What? How do you expect me to act like everything’s okay when I just found out my doctor’s a murderer?!”

“Shut. Up. Shiro’s probab-”

Just then, Keith’s brother appeared from around the corner. “Hey Keith. Lance.” He waved to the two boys, a small smile on his lips, though Keith knew it was a strained one. “You ready to come back inside?”

Keith nodded, noting the way Lance’s hand shot up to grip Keith’s forearm. 

“Alright,” Shiro said, “In you go.” He gestured for the boys to follow him inside. They obliged. “What do you think of the gardens, Lance?” He asked over his shoulder. 

“Wha- oh. The gardens. Yeah . . . they’re really nice.” Lance answered, mind obviously elsewhere. 

“And Keith? Did you appreciate it a little more this time?”

“Sure,” Keith answered, eyes glued to the back of Shiro’s head. Keith wondered if Shiro would tell him what he and Thace were talking about. He wondered if Shiro trusted him enough to give him that sort of information. Right now, it seemed like Shiro was set on keeping it a secret, but once the two of them were alone . . . would he tell Keith that Thace was going to court? Would he tell him that Lance’s parents were going to sue?

He figured the answer was no. 

If Keith hadn’t overheard their entire conversation, he doubted he would be briefed on the matter. 

That made him angry. Knowing that his brother wouldn’t tell him something so important and detrimental to Lance’s safety. 

Once they were back inside, Keith turned to Shiro. “Lance and I are going to hang out in my room. I’ll see you again at lunch?”

“Yeah, see you then,” Shiro said, waving his goodbye as he began walking down a different hallway. 

Keith took a deep breath once his brother was out of sight. “Alright, let’s go.” He said, sliding his hand into Lance’s and leading him down the hall to get to his room. Once there, Keith sat cross-legged on his cot, Lance lying down beside him. It was silent for the first two minutes. Then Lance spoke. 

“So . . . are we going to talk about what we heard back there? Are going to tell anyone?”

Keith nodded. “Of course we’re going to talk about it, but like hell we’re going to tell someone.”

Lance sat up, brow furrowing with confusion. “What do you mean? We have to tell someone!”

“And get Thace fired?” Keith asked, then shook his head. “No. Thace is one of the best doctors in the U.S. He can’t lose his job.”

“He’s a _murderer!”_ Lance reminded.

“Was. He _was_ a murderer. Now he saves people’s lives every day. He’s more than made up for the deaths he caused. Besides, we don’t even know what happened. It could have been a mistake. All he said was that he was responsible for their deaths. It could have been an accident, and he’s been shouldering the blame this entire time.”

“Keith.” Lance said, and the painfully obvious look of terror and dread on his face forced Keith to look away. “Keith . . . this is my fault. This is all my fault.”

“What?” Keith asked, scooting closer and resting a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “No, it’s not.”

“Yes. It is. If I hadn’t been so selfish before- If I had just stayed home, none of this would have happened. My parents are going to sue him, Keith. Because of me.”

“Lance, no. If we’re blaming anyone, it should be your dad. Isn’t he the one who made you feel like you should run away in the first place?”

Lance shook his head, tears beginning to slip down his cheeks. 

“This is all my fault. If I would have just stayed home. Or- if I would have died on that bridge-”

“Lance!” Keith sobbed, feeling tears form in his own eyes. “Don’t. Don’t talk like that, please-”

“But it’s true!” Lance shouted, flinching away from Keith’s touch. “It’s true. If I would have died, none of this would have happened. Everyone would be safe, no one would lose their jobs. If I would have just died like I was supposed to, everyone would be happy! If I would have jumped-”

“Then I would have never met you!” Keith yelled back, leaping to his feet as tears of frustration fell down his cheeks. “Then I never would have felt like there was actually someone out there who cares about me! If you would have died, I would still be sitting in my room, talking to myself and crying! I wouldn’t be eating, and I wouldn’t care. If I never would have met you . . . I might have died, too. But you’re here now, and you’ve changed my life for the better. Why isn’t that enough for you?! If you would have died on that bridge, you wouldn’t have been able to wish on the fountain with me, or- or kiss me. I wouldn’t be able to kiss you, Lance. I never would have moved on, and- I would be lost. You were my path back to sanity. Without you, I would have gone insane.”

Lance had been shaking his head the entire time Keith was speaking, tears falling and mouth quivering. 

“But-”

“But nothing!” Keith shouted, “We’re each other’s life line, and that’s that! Is that so bad?”

Silence fell over the two boys. Keith’s heart began to feel heavier in his chest, and he wondered if he was going to have another episode. Then Lance stood, his eyes shimmering with hopelessness. 

“I have to go back home. I’m sorry, Keith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm laughing. I'm such a villain. But anyway, I hope you liked the chapter :)


	20. An Idea

**April 15, 2017**

**Garrison Hospital**

**Room 302**

“Lance . . .” Keith spoke, his voice sounding more like a forced whisper, “You- you can’t. Please, you can’t-”

“I have to. If I don’t, my parents are going to sue doctor Thace. He’ll lose his job, probably end up in jail - along with his husband. I have to go back. It would be best for everyone if I just listened to my father and went back home.” Lance’s arms shyly raised to his chest as he folded them across his body, eyes refusing to meet Keith’s. 

“It’s best for everyone, huh?” Keith asked. 

Lance nodded silently. 

“Well I’m sorry if I don’t believe you,” Keith said, growing aggravated. 

Lance glanced up, saw the intimidating glare Keith was sending him, and lowered his eyes back to his converse without a word.

“What about me?” Keith asked, “Would it be best for me, if you just left?”

Lance shrugged, keeping his mouth tightly closed. 

“Do you really think that I’d be better off without you?”

It was silent. Painfully silent. 

“Well? Do you?” Keith’s eyes stayed glued to the top of Lance’s downcast head as he waited for an answer.

“Sometimes,” Lance mumbled quietly. “I just feel like . . . I’m holding you back somehow. Like- it’d be better for you if I just left.”

“Just minutes ago you were wishing you could have met me sooner. Seconds ago you said you wished you could be with me forever. Are you taking that all back?”

“N-no, I just-”

“You just what, Lance?” Keith asked, his voice growing a bit louder. “You just think that everyone would be better off without you? That the whole world would function more properly if you weren’t in it?” Keith paused, waiting for Lance to say something. When he didn’t, Keith continued. “Well it’s not. It wouldn’t be. My world wasn’t even spinning until you came bursting through those hospital doors. My life was so bland and dull, until I saw you smile. Without you, my world wouldn’t have an axis. It wouldn’t spin. It wouldn’t function at all. And you’re saying that it would be better if you just left? If you yanked out the axis of my world and left me stranded on a motionless planet until the end of time?”

“I think you’re being a little dramatic, Keith-”

“Drama’s my specialty, get used to it. Because you’re not leaving this damned hospital. I won’t let you. I already lost someone I cared about. I refuse to let you go, too.”

Lance fell silent once again. For nearly a minute, the only sound that was heard was the ticking of the clock and the muffled footsteps coming from the hallway. Keith sighed, wondering how much more it would take to get Lance to change his mind. 

Just as he was about to continue rambling, Lance’s gaze lifted to meet Keith’s. 

“What if I left . . . with you?” He asked, a spark of hope dancing in his eyes. 

Keith tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Lance said, taking a small step forward, the beginnings of a smile on his lips, “What if we just . . . left?”

Lance must have sensed Keith’s confusion, because he began to elaborate. 

“The two of us. No McClain family, no Shiro, no Thace, no nobody. Just us.” Lance’s eyes were now sparking - the brightest Keith had ever seen them. Keith then realized, in this moment, that he was bound to this boy. No matter the words that slipped from his lips, no matter how ridiculous the idea that formed in his head, no matter how stupid the proposition that left his lungs, Keith would listen. And he’d do it in a single, dysfunctional heartbeat. 

“You mean . . . run away?” Keith asked, his heart already overworking itself at the thought of going anywhere with Lance that wasn’t within the confines of the hospital or the safety of the gardens. 

Sunlight hit the ocean of Lance’s irises just then, and Keith wondered if he should call for a doctor immediately. What this boy was doing to his heart wasn’t healthy. 

“Yes,” Lance confirmed. “Run away.”

Keith could already feel himself nodding in agreement before his mind had a chance to decide just how bad an idea like this really was. His lips were already speaking for his heart before his braid could rationalize the situation. 

“Okay,” Keith breathed, “Yeah. Just us. Away.” A massive smile broke out over the boy’s lips, fracturing any sense of reality that still lingered in his mind. 

Just him and Lance. No more worries. No more hospital. He could leave. He could escape. 

“Okay,” Keith said again with a smile. 

Lance’s arms flung around Keith in a rather unexpected embrace. The most beautiful laugh left his lungs, and Keith thanked every entity out there that he had the opportunity to hear it. 

“When?” Keith asked.

“Now,” Lance said, pulling away to plant a kiss on Keith’s cheek, leaving the shorter boy a blushing mess as Lance skipped about his room, gathering anything that Keith would want to take with him to their escape. “iPad?” He asked, already picking the device up from Keith’s cot and slipping into a black backpack Keith kept in the corner of his room. “Charger?” Lance added, glancing about the room searching for it. 

Keith numbly pointed to an outlet next to his nightstand where his charger lay, plugged in. 

His mind was running nearly as fast as his heart, and he wondered if he should leave to find Shiro. 

_No._ Keith thought. _I don’t need Shiro anymore. I have Lance. That’s all that matters. All I need is him. I can survive. I can do this. He- ohmygod he kissed me. Well, on the cheek, yeah but- still. Holy fuck. This is happening. This is really happening._

“Where are your clothes?” Lance asked, snapping Keith back to reality. 

“Wha- oh. Umm . . . second drawer down.” For another minute, Keith watched silently as Lance shuffled through his drawer, noting the excitement that seemed to emanate from the Cuban. After he had picked out a couple of t-shirts, Keith finally remembered how to move. 

“You know . . . you don’t have to do that. I can pack for myself.”

Lance smiled over his shoulder. “Yeah but then you would just pick out the plain black or red t-shirts, and those are boring. I want to see you wear this.” Lance held up a galaxy print shirt that Keith hadn’t worn in years - for a reason. 

Rolo had bought him that shirt. 

Keith swallowed, feeling a pit in his stomach that he hadn’t felt since he met Lance. 

“I don’t-” Keith tried, “I don’t like that shirt. It’s probably too small, anyway.”

“Why not? It’s awesome! And it looks like the perfect size.” Lance said, “Besides, I think you’d look really good in it.” To prove his point, Lance held it up to Keith’s chest, then looked him up and down, a smirk crawling onto his lips. “Yup. And it brings out your gorgeous eyes, too.”

Keith took a step back, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. “Wha- Lance- I don’t- I can’t-”

Lance’s smile just widened. “I’m packing it for you.” He said decidedly, folding it up and slipping it into Keith’s backpack. “And, just to make you feel a little better, I’ll back a boring black shirt for you, too.”

“Umm . . . thanks?”

“You’re welcome, darling.”

Keith blinked. “That’s not- no.”

“No, what?” Lance asked, turning back to Keith after placing another t-shirt in the bag, along with a pair of grey pants and a few pairs of socks (he commented on how cute the Spider-Man ones were). 

“Just . . . no. You can’t call me that. I’m not your darling.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Then what _can_ I call you?”

Keith shrugged. “Keith?”

Lance rolled his eyes, casually pulling out a pair of red boxer briefs from Keith’s drawer. “No thanks. I’ll stick with darling. It suits you.”

Keith opened his mouth to say something, but quickly closed it again, lunging forward to yank his underwear away from Lance. “What is wrong with you?!” He shrieked, voice cracking. He wasn’t sure how much longer his heart would last before it gave out completely.

“Oh c’mon, it’s just underwear. We all wear it. Look-” Lance then proceeded to bend down as if taking off his jeans.

Keith squealed and quickly turned away, his face no doubt the color of briefs he was holding.

“Oh my god calm down, I’m joking!” Lance laughed. “I didn’t even pull my pants off. Chill.”

Keith kept his eyes on the wall for a few more seconds as he composed himself before turning back to Lance and quickly shoving his boxers in his backpack.

“So what else are you going to need?” Lance asked, as if he hadn’t just come seconds away from mooning the poor boy. “We could probably grab snacks on the way out. Other than food and clothes, we could probably use some other materials. Flashlights? Money, definitely. Toothbrush and toothpaste, I don’t want bad breath. And deodorant. Can’t walk around smelling like shit. What else we need besides my clothes? That should be good, right?”

Keith nodded mutely. 

“Alright. My room, then?”

“O-okay.” Keith answered, following Lance out the door, who had already shouldered Keith’s backpack and was making his way out the door and down the hall to the elevators. “So . . . this is really happening, huh?” Keith asked as the doors to the elevator closed, leaving the two of them alone. 

Lance nodded. “Yeah,” He said confidently. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so sure about anything in my life.”

“You’re exaggerating,” Keith said with a blush.

“A little,” Lance admitted.

The doors _dinged_ open, revealing the level 2 hallway. While walking down to Lance’s room, Aubrey Ellis wandered out of **Room 217.**

“Ahh hello, Keith. Lance,” Aubrey said, nodding a greeting. She was smiling, but her eyes were puffy and red. She had been crying. “How was the gardens?” She asked, her voice sounding a bit strained. 

Keith was about to ask what was wrong when Lance smiled and beamed at her. 

“The gardens were amazing!” He said enthusiastically, “I really liked the fountain, it was pretty. And the Begonees-”

“Begonia,” Keith corrected. 

“Yeah, that.”

Aubrey nodded, wiping absentmindedly at her cheek. “Yes, begonias sure are beautiful. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to head home for the day. I’ll see you in a couple of days, Keith?”

Keith slowly nodded, knowing that he would not, in fact, be seeing her anytime soon. 

“Great.” She said, her voice catching in her throat as she turned to leave. Keith didn’t have time to ask what had happened before she was in the elevator, shoulders shaking with silent sobs as the doors closed. 

“Let’s go,” Lance said, tugging Keith down the hall. 

“Wait,” Keith said, stopping in his tracks. 

Aubrey never cried. She was always smiling. She was always happy, and optimistic. She never cried. So what- Keith’s eyes widened. 

“Coran.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School had officially started. Help me.


	21. Goodbye

**April 15, 2017**

**Garrison Hospital**

**Room 217**

“Shiro?” Keith’s voice sounded small, even to himself. It didn’t help that the stark walls of the hospital tended to echo any noise that strolled past, causing an eerie effect throughout the entire building. 

Violet eyes peeking past the doorframe of **Room 217,** Keith noted Shiro’s familiar frame by the bedside. His usual set shoulders were slumped in defeat, and the confident air about him seemed deflated and thin. 

Keith swallowed. “Shiro?” He tried again, louder this time. 

The older man perked up, twisting about to make eye contact. 

“Keith,” Shiro said, a bit surprised. He then stood a little taller, squared his shoulders and cleared his throat, speaking professionally. “How was the gardens?”

Keith’s eyes flicked down to the foot of Coran’s bed. Shiro blocked the view of most of the cot, and Keith couldn’t tell from the angle he was at if anyone was lying down in it. 

“What happened to Coran?” Keith asked, ignoring the question Shiro had asked. “Is he okay?”

A dreadful silence thickened around the boys and the doctor. Keith held his breath, waiting for the devastating news that he had heard so often before. That he wouldn’t be waking up. That he was dead. 

When Shiro made the announcement, Keith was more than a little surprised. 

“He’s awake.”

Shocked silence filled the room for mere seconds before Keith spoke again. 

“He's . . . awake?” He asked in bewilderment. 

Shiro nodded. “He awoke just a couple minutes after you two left the room, while I was talking to Aubrey. We had to force her to leave the room while we ran tests and made sure everything was functioning properly. He's in good condition, and seems to be, surprisingly, healthy. Although . . . while running the tests, we realized that his mind isn't as healthy as is physical body is. 

“He can't remember anything.” 

“What?” Keith asked, “He- he has amnesia?”

Shiro nodded. “I’m afraid so. He’s extremely confused at the moment, and doesn’t seem to understand where he is or how he got here. Doctor Ryner is speaking to him now, trying to explain the situation as best she can without causing more confusion. We’ve decided it best if he didn’t have any visitors for a while. It wouldn’t do to surround him with people he doesn't remember that continue telling him stories about himself that are no longer in his memories. It’ll just cause more heartache and uncertainty.”

“What about Aubrey?” Keith asked, feeling Lance’s grip on his sleeve tighten. 

Shiro’s eyes flicked down to the tiled floor. “Aubrey won’t be able to visit for an unknown amount of time.”

Keith’s eyes widened. “You can’t do that to her!” He shouted. “She’s his niece! She loves him. You can’t keep her away!”

“Keith, I’m sorry, but for now, it’s the best choice we can make to ensure Coran regains his health and calms down. Once he comes to terms with his condition, we’ll invite Aubrey back to try and reboot his memories as well.”

Keith shook his head, letting out a disappointed sigh. “I can’t believe this,” He scoffed. “C’mon, Lance. Let’s go.” 

Turning to leave, Keith grabbed hold of his friend’s arm, dragging him away from **Room 217** and down the hall to Lance’s room to gather some more things before they took off. 

He heard Shiro call out his name a few times, but ignored the shouts as he stomped down the hall. 

Shiro didn’t follow him. The older man probably figured he’d just come into Keith’s room later that day and speak to him once he had calmed down. 

But Keith wouldn’t be there. He’d be outside, in an unknown world. He’d be free, with Lance at his side, and nothing holding him back from seeing the sights he’s been depraived of since birth. He’d be gone. 

“Keith, shouldn’t we make sure Coran’s okay?” Lance asked softly.

“He’s fine, aside from being brainwashed by all the doctors and kept inside this godforsaken hospital for who knows how long,” Keith snapped, opening the door to **Room 233** “C’mon, grab your stuff. We’re leaving.”

Lance nodded silently, moving about his room and gathering the few items his family had brought him the day before, including a couple t-shirts (one blue, the other his baseball tee), a pair of tan khakis, some white socks, his toothbrush and toothpaste, and a book. Keith didn’t have time to read the cover before Lance placed it in his own backpack with his other belongings. 

Watching Lance pack up his things gave Keith time to cool down. 

He hadn’t realized how angry he was until just a few moments ago. 

Not just angry at Shiro, but angry at his parents. Angry at his entire situation. He was left. Abandoned. Taken in by a doctor who refused to let him go outside because of his lousy heart condition. He felt like some kind of pet - kept on a leash and limited to certain areas. It wasn’t fair. He wanted to be free. He wanted to run around outside and feel what it’s like to be . . . normal. He wanted to cut the ties of his mental imprisonment, and break free. Now he could do that. Now he _was_ doing that. 

“Thank you,” Keith said, eyes still following Lance around the room. 

“For what?” Lance asked, shouldering the backpack and beginning to tighten the straps. He then picked up Keith’s bag as well, holding it out for him. 

Taking the bag with a thankful nod, Keith elaborated. “For finally getting me out of here. I’ve never really had the courage to just . . . leave. Not until now. Not until you. So . . . thank you. I owe you.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean? Why couldn’t you just leave?”

Keith lowered his gaze to his shoes. “It’s complicated.”

Lance shrugged, placing a reassuring hand on Keith’s shoulder. “It’s alright. You’re free now.” He smiled, and Keith mirrored the gesture. “C’mon,” Lance nodded toward the door. “Let’s go raid the vending machines before we go.”

“Wait-” Keith said, stopping Lance as he was walking out the door. “There’s someone I want to say goodbye to.”

 

**Room 109**

“Keith?” Allura’s head perked up when the two boys walked into the room. 

Keith gave a small, shy wave to the Princess. “Hey. How have you been doing?”

“I’ve . . . been well. Though, I must apologize for our last encounter. My emotions got the best of me, and-”

“It’s okay,” Keith said with a smile. “I’m just glad you’re feeling better.”

Allura’s eyes softened. “As am I.” 

It was silent for a moment before Allura tilted her head in confusion. “I thought you weren’t allowed to visit me anymore?”

Keith waved a dismissive hand, allowing a smirk to cross his lips. “Well yeah, but I have to keep up my rebellious and independent Red Paladin rep, don’t I?”

The Princess chuckled, modestly covering her mouth with an elegant hand as she did so. “You speak the truth,” She said, never failing to stay in character. “Who might your friend be?” Allura gestured past Keith. 

“Oh, this is Lance. The new patient I was telling you about days ago.”

“Ahh, the Butterfinger boy, yes?”

Keith chuckled. “Yes.”

Allura raised a delicate eyebrow, a knowing smirk forming on her lips. “I thought you said you weren’t friends. In fact, if I recall correctly, when I asked if he was potential Prince material, your exact words were, ‘eww, no’.”

Lance began laughing from behind Keith, and the shorter boy’s cheeks fumed a deep red. 

“Yeah, well- things change. We’re running away together, and . . . I just thought I’d come say bye before we left.”

The news left Allura in a silent state of shock, her chocolate skin appearing paler than usual. 

“You’re . . . leaving?” She wondered aloud. “But Keith, your hea-”

“I know,” Keith said quickly, not wanting the news of his heart condition to be known to Lance. “I know,” he repeated, smiling this time, “We took care of it.” A lie.

Allura then grinned. “That’s wonderful news.”

Keith nodded, trying his best to look like he wasn’t telling a massive fib.

Thank God, Lance didn’t question what the two of them were talking about. 

“Yeah,” Keith agreed shyly, taking another step toward Allura. “Well, we were just stopping in to bid you farewell,” He said with formality, stopping to bow.

Allura smiled. “You’re too modest. Please, enough with the formality. I’d just like an embrace before you take off on your journey. Come.” Allura spread her arms wide, and Keith took the opportunity to spring his arms around her. Small tears burst into his eyes, and Allura rubbed her hands into his back in comforting circles. 

“I’m going to miss you.” Keith said.

“The feeling is mutual,” Allura replied. The two pulled apart, and Allura cupped her hands on Keith’s cheeks. “You take care of yourself, okay? And take care of that Prince of yours as well.” Allura winked, wiping away a tear that had fallen down Keith’s cheek. 

Keith let out a small laugh, one that was necessary if he didn’t want to shed any more tears. 

“Thanks, but he’s no Prince. He’s my Knight. And he’s going to save me.”

Allura nodded. “Let him. And you do the same for him. Save each other.” With that, Allura planted a small kiss on Keith’s forehead. “Now go. Shiro’s supposed to be checking up on me in any minute. It’d be best if you weren’t here when he showed up. Take care, my brave Paladin.”

“Farewell, my Princess,” Keith said, kissing her hand goodbye.

The two boys then slipped out of the room and down the hall, being careful to avoid the eyes of any doctors or nurses as they made their way to the elevator.

 

**Front Doors**

“This is really happening,” Keith whispered, more to himself than to his partner. 

“Yup,” Lance said, “You nervous?”

Keith shook his head. “No.” Then he nodded. “Kind of.”

Lance chuckled. “You can hold my hand,” He said, already lacing his fingers with Keith’s. 

The shorter boy blushed, looking away from Lance in an attempt to hide it. Though, by the sound of Lance’s bell-like laughter, he didn’t hide it well enough. 

“Together,” Lance said, taking a step forward, hand in Keith’s. 

Keith gave a curt nod, following in his lead. 

The doors then opened, and the two of them stepped into a world of no rules and absolute freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was finally able to update since school started!!! Yaaay~ Sorry it took so long. With school and everything else going on, I won't be able to update as much. Plus I started watching Glee, so I'm kinda wasting valuable writing time binging that on Netflix. WORTH. IT. I just finished the first season, so no spoilers please! Comments and feedback are welcome! Please let me know what you thought of the chapter. I LOVE YOU ALL~


	22. Disappearing

**April 15, 2017**

**Garrison Hospital**

**Front Desk**

“Ah, Shiro- there you are.” 

The man turned, fluorescent lights momentarily blinding him. “Rax.” He nodded in greeting. 

Rax Anamani was one of the newer doctors, still training with the more experienced doctors and nurses. With his sister, Shay, being a volunteer at the Garrison, Rax had always put forth his best effort not only to help injured civilians and save lives, but also set a good example for his younger sister, who was, obviously, following in his footsteps. Though Rax was a doctor in the same building as Shiro, he didn’t see the younger man very often. He was usually on the upper floors training with their boss.

“Why aren’t you with Iverson?” Shiro question.

“I have some concerning news.” The young man said, ignoring Shiro’s question and, ultimately, grabbing his attention.

Shiro’s brow knit with slight concern. “About?”

“Keith,” Rax breathed, “I was looking over the results of his latest check-up tests a few hours ago, like Iverson asked me to, and-”

“Yes?” Shiro asked, the footsteps of patients and nurses alike fading to the back of his mind as he continued listening to what his coworker had to say.

Rax’s eyes seemed to dull, the usual, youthful spark in them dwindling to ashes. 

“His condition has gotten much worse. The medication he’s been taking recently doesn’t seem to be having the effect we’d hoped for. I’m afraid that if we don’t find a suitable donor willing to go through with the heart operation . . .” Rax’s voice trailed off. 

“What?” Shiro asked, a bit of panic seeping into his voice. “What, Rax?”

Rax took a deep breath, his hands faltering at the hem of his suit, then hiding in his pockets. When he looked up to meet Shiro’s gaze, his eyes were full of hopelessness. 

“If his heart acts up again . . . he won’t be able to recover.”

Shiro closed his eyes, hugging the clipboard tightly to his chest. He gave himself few seconds to just breath. In and out. Inhale. Exhale. 

After a minute, he opened his eyes to see Rax’s apologetic face. 

“Any other news?”

Rax nodded. “I’ve been digging around some files and researching restlessly for the past seven hours. There’s a possible donor just a state away - a girl named Nyma Fontain. She’s just a couple years older than Keith, and is currently in the Magnolia Hospital in Arkansas. She was declared Brain Dead 17 days ago. If we’re going to go forward with the transplant, our time is now.” 

Shiro had already begun walking to the elevators, intent on discussing this while Keith was involved in the conversation himself. Rax followed closely behind, offering more details on the matter. 

“I’ve looked into it, and Nyma isn’t nearly as compatible as Lance, though the similarities between the two is certainly something we can’t ignore. I’ve already called the Magnolia hospital and set up a time for you to speak with Nyma’s personal doctor to discuss the possibility of a transplant. After he did his research on Keith, he agreed that it could definitely be done.”

“And the estimated survival time after the operation?” Shiro asked, stepping into the elevator and stabbing the number 2 button with his thumb. 

Rax took a deep breath. “Undetermined. Though the Magnolia doctor and I are assuming it would be no more than three years, which, considering the state Keith’s in now, is impeccable. Now, he could drop dead in mere days, or even minutes. It’s extremely unhealthy keeping him up and about the way you’re doing-”

“I just want him to live,” Shiro muttered, eyes fixated on the glowing number 2 of the elevator.

“Which is precisely why we must keep him on bed rest,” Rax said, “We can’t risk him having another episode. It would cause him his life.”

Shiro nodded, eyes clenched closed as a small numbness began spreading throughout his chest. It was cold, and unwelcoming. Uncomfortable and violent. 

Keith could die. 

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, Shiro always knew. 

He was aware. 

And yet, the reality of it all just now seemed to seep into every bone in his body. 

“Alright,” Shiro said, the tightness in his voice surprising even himself. 

The elevator doors dinged open, and the two men stepped out into the hall, Shiro’s eyes already planted on the door outside of Keith’s room. **Room 203.**

“Rax,” Shiro said.

“Yes, sir?”

“I want all the files concerning Nyma Fontain on my desk by nine. I’ll search through them, double check the compatibilities, and call the Magnolia doctor as soon as I finish the research. If I feel like it’s possible, I’ll second the meeting and ask to rendezvous somewhere we can speak in person and compare results. 

“Yes, sir.”

“And, Rax?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Don’t call me ‘sir’.”

“Yes s- Shiro.”

“Now get back upstairs. I’m sure Iverson has been wondering where you’ve been for the past eight hours.”

“Of course. I hope everything unfolds in your favor, doctor.”

“As do I,” Shiro said, giving a simple wave goodbye to Rax as the Samoan turned to step back into the elevator.

Continuing down the hall, Shiro stopped when he made it in front of Keith’s room. The door was closed, as usual. 

Placing a hand on the silver metal of the doorknob, Shiro allowed himself another minute to breathe. 

It would be okay. 

Keith was going to be okay. 

There was a donor who was compatible with him. 

Nyma Fontain. She could save him. She could save his little brother. 

It would be okay. 

Inhale. 

Exhale. 

Shiro planted a fake smile on his face, ready to open the door to inform Keith about the situation professionally, and ask for his opinion on the matter. 

Sliding the door open, Shiro smiled into Keith’s room, eyes falling on an empty bed, unoccupied chair, and bare desk. 

Frowning, Shiro peeked into the corners of the room, but saw no one. He checked his wristwatch.

**4:27pm** There was no reason for him to be in the cafeteria. He could be in Lance’s room . . . 

Shrugging and pulling out his phone, he shot Keith a quick text.

**Dr.Sexy(Shiro):  
>Are you with Lance, by any chance? I just stopped by your room and saw that you weren’t there. I wanted to talk to you about something. About a donor. **

Shiro slipped his phone back into his pocket, making his way down the hall. Keith was usually good about texting him back right away, so when his phone didn’t vibrate or ring after a couple minutes, he decided to text him again.

**Dr.Sexy(Shiro):**  
>Her name is Nyma Fontain. She’s in Arkansas, so we’d have to travel there in order to go through with the surgery. I just wanted to talk to you in person about some of the details.  
>Keith? Where are you?   
>Are you with Lance?  
>Keith???  
>I’m starting to worry.  
>Where are you???  
>KEITH? 

Having already rushed up the stairs and onto the third floor, Shiro burst into **Room 233,** but was met with the same, vacant looking space as Keith’s room. 

A sinking feeling suddenly overwhelmed him. 

Shiro’s heart sped to an unnaturally fast pace as his eyes darted about the room frantically. 

Empty. It was completely empty. 

Sprinting out of Lance’s room, Shiro avoided the anxious wait of the elevator and instead rushed up the stairs to level 3. Once again in Keith’s room, Shiro began ransacking through his items, searching for any necessities. 

His toothbrush was missing. 

As was the toothpaste. 

Deodorant? Gone. 

Some shirts and pants had disappeared as well. 

Even his iPad was gone. 

“No . . .” Shiro whispered. Hopelessness flared throughout his veins, filling the doctor with dread. 

Keith ran away. He could be miles from the hospital by now. What if he had already collapsed? Was Lance aware of Keith’s condition? Shiro wasn't sure. What if Lance was oblivious? What would he do? He wouldn't know how to treat him. He’d die! How long had he been outside? How far away were they? How many provisions had they taken? Would it be enough for them to get through the night? What if Shiro couldn’t find him? 

What if he was already dead?

Tears of fright had subconsciously slipped from the doctor’s eyes, cascading down his cheeks and splattering against the white tiled floor where his little brother used to stand. 

As he lifted his arm to grab for his emergency communication device, he realized that his hands were shaking. 

**“Th-Thace . . .”** He breathed, the panic in his voice apparent. **“Thace?”** Shiro repeated, his legs nearly giving way as he collapsed near the vacant cot. **“THACE!”**

**“Shiro?”** A static response came through. **“What’s wrong?”**

**“Keith’s gone. S-so is Lance.”** Shiro’s head spun as he braced himself on the side of the cot. Every muscle in his body seemed to spasm as he thought of everything that could possibly go wrong. 

Keith could be dead. And Lance could be out there, not knowing what to do, not knowing how to treat him. Lance could be out there, crying over his dead body . . . and Shiro was stuck in this damned hospital. 

_No._

Shiro forced himself to stand, using his confusion, anger and worry drive him. Bursting out the door, Shiro sprinted down the hall, faintly hearing Thace’s concerned, fractured and dismembered voice through his communication device. 

**“-where are you-”**

**“-Shiro-”**

**“-did he go-”**

**“-are you-”**

**“-SHIRO-”**

Fumbling around the corner, Shiro was met by the husky build of Doctor Thace, nearly sending him sprawling across the hospital floor.

“Shiro!” Strong arms grabbed Shiro, steadying him before he could fall. 

“Shiro, what’s going on?” Thace sounded surprisingly calm, the tone relieving a bit of the stress Shiro was feeling, though not much. 

“K-Keith,” He stammered, “He’s- he’s gone-”

“Shiro, I need to you talk to me. Clear and precise. What is going on?”

Shiro stared up at Thace with panicked eyes. 

“He’s gone- Keith. He’s gone- We- we have to find him! We have to start looking. He probably hasn’t been gone for too long- He could still be within the area! We have to go look for him! We have to-”

“Shiro, calm down!”

Shiro yanked away from Thace forcefully, taking off down the hall and sprinting towards the doors. “KEITH!” He yelled, tears continuing to fall down his cheeks. “KEITH!!!”

“SHIRO!” Thace hollered from somewhere behind him, but Shiro didn’t look back. 

Bursting through the doors, Shiro called out again. “KEITH!” He screamed his brother’s name, over and over again, past the parking lot and out into the woods. He shrieked the name his brother was given until his voice gave out and his lungs felt like they had collapsed. 

He wasn’t sure when Thace had caught up to him, wrapping him up in a bittersweet embrace. 

He didn’t remember Thace rubbing circles into his back, or the comforting words that he spoke in his ear. 

All he knew was that his dear sweet brother had disappeared, and Death was hunting him through those woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well . . . THAT happened.


	23. The Journey Pt.1

**April 15, 2017**

**Gonzales, Louisiana**

“It’s been five hours since we escaped the placid, white walls of the Garrison Hospital. 

“Five hours of trekking through muddy grass, under a blazing sun and over the Earth’s surface. Five hours of continuous travels. Here, just miles out from Gonzales, we’ve taken our first rest. Lance has drifted off, and the sun is just beginning to set. I’m afraid that my heart won’t be able to handle the journey ahead of us, and already I feel as if I’m about to collapse. But I must keep going. I have to keep Lance safe. I have to stay by his side, no matter what. I’m not going to let my heart keep me from escorting Lance to safety. I refuse to fall. I refuse to die. 

“I’m going to keep traveling. I’m going to get Lance away from the hospital - away from his family. I know where I need to take him. It’s just a matter of getting there . . .

“I vaguely remember a man that Shiro was acquainted with. A cousin, perhaps? I can’t recall the specific details, though I’m positive he’ll be able to help us. He lives just over the Mississippi river. I can’t guarantee that he’ll keep our whereabouts a secret, but it’s the best possible solution I have at the moment. Maybe something else will come to me, but for now . . . we have to find Sven.”

STOP.

Keith stopped the recording, allowing his eyes to drift upward and soak in the remaining sunlight sparkling through the leaves above him. The sky was currently painted beautiful shades of pinks and oranges, faded blues and brightened yellows. He had always loved watching the sunset, especially when Shiro took him up on the roof of their apartment, sipped steaming hot chocolate wrapped in blankets as the winter sun set behind the mountains. It was amazing. Watching the colors fade in and out over time. Watching all his worries disappear, just for the night. Watching the beauty of the world unfold right before his eyes. He loved it. 

So decided to draw. 

Pulling out his stilus, Keith opened up his favorite app and began to scribble out the colors of the setting sun. He blended the pinks with the oranges, the yellows with the blues. He created the perfect sunset, then polluted it with a blackened heart in the center rather than the actual sun. 

With white, in the black of his own dysfunctional heart, he wrote, in calming letters, “I REFUSE TO FALL. I REFUSE TO DIE.”

By the time he was satisfied with his work, the sun had already disappeared behind the mountains, and the sky had darkened to the color of the heart he had depicted in his art. 

Setting down his iPad, Keith settled into the Earth, creating a small pillow of leaves next to Lance’s silhouette. He then nestled close to the other boy, the chill of the night starting to seep through his thin clothes. Eventually, he found his eyes closing, and fatigue taking over. It wasn't long before he drifted off to sleep. 

 

**April 16, 2017**

Keith was awakened by Lance’s soft voice, a bit hoarse from having just woken up himself. When he struggled to sit up, Keith groaned as his back ached from where a rock had been disturbing his slumber all night. 

“Keith, wake up. I think someone's coming.”

Eyes widening, Keith suddenly became ten times more aware of his surroundings. He heard branches nearby, snapping under thick boots. He heard small voices, far away, but close enough to send chilling nerves down his spine.

Jumping to his feet, Keith grabbed Lance’s hand, his other searching for his iPad. 

“I already got it. It's in my bag,” Lance assured hurriedly, already beginning to walk away from the sounds that were growing nearer. When Keith nodded and quickly matched Lance’s pace, the two of them took off through the woods, hand in hand. 

“Where are we going to go?” Keith asked, still a bit groggy and disoriented from having just woken up. 

“Shh,” Lance quieted him, picking up the pace. 

As the two of them continued running, Keith felt the all-too familiar pounding of his heart. His breathing was becoming increasingly irregular, and pain began to spread through his veins, plaguing his health. 

“Lance,” Keith breathed.

“Shh!” Lance repeated, “Keep going-”

“I- I can’t-” Keith panted, the cramping in his chest getting tighter and tighter with every step. 

“We have to keep moving!” Lance whispered harshly. 

The footsteps behind them began to slowly fade away as Keith’s pain increased, his breathing fractured, and his heart pounded. 

Eventually - _finally,_ \- they came to a stop. 

Keith’s legs buckled underneath him as he wheezed for more air, collapsing onto his hands and knees. 

“Keith!” Lance yelped with worry, kneeling down by his side. “Keith, are you okay?”

Keith, coughing into his elbow, struggled to nod. His head was spinning violently, his heart swelling unhealthily, and his throat burning with bile that threatened to rise up and out of his stomach. 

“Keith . . .” Lance whispered, concern laced in the single syllable. 

“I’m- I’m fine-” Keith croaked, the lie stinging in his throat. “We have to keep going. We have to find Sven. Come on-”

“Keith, you look sick,” Lance said.

“I’m fine,” Keith said, struggling to rise to his feet. “Just keep going.”

Rising on a pair of shaky legs, Keith looked up to see Lance’s brilliant blue eyes shining with concern. 

Instead of giving him false reassurance once more, Keith settled with grabbing Lance’s hand and trudging onward, ignoring the pain that laced every vein in his body. 

_I refuse to fall. I refuse to die._

“Let’s go,” Keith said, dragging Lance along behind him. 

Minutes passed. 

Hours. 

Finally, his heart seemed to calm enough to the point where Keith didn’t have to dig his nails into his skin to distract him from the pain.  

“We need to get across the Mississippi.” Keith informed. 

Lance nodded. “You got Shiro’s card, right?”

“Yeah. And a couple hundred dollars in cash, too.”

“Good.”

The next two hours were spent in silence as the boys walked at a more leisurely pace. Fingers laced together and backpacks slowly growing heavier, they finally made it to the docks on the Mississippi river. 

Paying for two tickets across, the boys were kindly seated on the boat once it arrived to take the passengers. Seated by an open window, Keith smiled as he watched Lance’s face brighten as he gazed over the river. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Lance asked, eyes sparkling brighter than the water below them. 

“It’s actually extremely polluted. And disgusting, really. But sure, we’ll go with beautiful.”

“You just love turning everything into a half-empty glass, don’t you?” Lance asked, nose crinkling in a way that made Keith want to kiss it. 

He shrugged. “As long as it’s not Mississippi river water, I’d take any half-empty glass.”

Lance rolled his eyes playfully. “You’re such a pessimist.”

“And you’re too optimistic.”

“Maybe I just like to enjoy the little things in life. Like, for instance . . .” Lance’s eyes gleamed, making Keith feel a little insecure. He folded in on himself as a smirk found it’s way on Lance’s lips. “Like the way you look at me while you think I’m not paying attention.”

Keith’s cheeks warmed at that. “Wh-what do you mean? I don’t- I’ve never-”

Lance reached over the small counter in between them to take hold of Keith’s hands. “Like in the garden, when I was looking at the flowers, and you were admiring me. Like just now, when I was watching out the window, and you were smiling in my direction. I live for it. I live for you. 

“I’m starting to enjoy the little things. Like the way you crinkle your nose when you don’t know how to accept a compliment. Like the way you cover your mouth when you’re laughing a little too hard. Like the way your eyes scrunch up when you’re trying not to smile. Like the way you stumble over your own feet sometimes, or the way you draw so passionately and with purpose. Like the way you just . . . are. I love it. I love how independent you are, and how you make up your own rules. I love everything about you that just makes you _you._

“I love you.”

Keith's breath hitched. His heart skipped a beat, fluttered down his stomach and danced in his toes. His hand started to shake, still encompassed by Lance’s. He didn't know where to look. He didn't know what to say. 

“Y-you can't just-” Keith struggled to speak. “You can't just say things like that, Lance.”

“Why not?” There was a certain scoffing laughter in his voice that made Keith smile. It was childish and innocent. Beautiful and passionate. “It's true. Keith Kogane, I am in love with you.”

Keith tried to suppress the giggle bubbling in his throat, but failed miserably. Instead, he pulled his hand back into his own lap, covering his shaky fingers with the sleeves of his jacket. “No you're not. You're delusional,” Keith said, smile still apparent on his lips no matter how hard he tried to erase it. “You're 13, Lance. You don't even know what love is-”

“I'm 14, mind you. And I know _exactly_ what love is.” Lance’s eyes seemed to sparkle mischievously, but with meaning. Cautiously, but with purpose. 

“Love is the way my heart swells when my eyes spot you. Love is the way my fingers itch to run through your hair, the way my arms yearn to hold you. Love is the way my mouth wishes to meet yours, the way my brain short circuits when you smile. Love is the way my mind can't resist you. Love is the way my body wants to be next to yours, the way my nose so desperately wants to graze across your cheek. Love is the way I feel about you, the way I want you.”

Keith swallowed, wishing his eyes would peel away from those sparkling blue lakes that would not stop staring back at him. 

“Lance . . .” Keith breathed.

“I mean every word, Keith.” Lance’s gaze hardened as his eyes bore into Keith’s. “Every word. I mean it.”

“But Lance-”

“But _nothing._ I just want to be with you. You have no idea how happy you make me. I didn’t think it was possible to feel so alive. But when I look in your eyes . . . when I see the light shining through them, casting some sort of spotlight on me . . . I actually feel like a star. Like the highlight of some movie reel. I feel alive, because of you. Because of the way you look at me. I just want to be with you, Keith.” Lance’s smile was becoming more blinding with every second that passed. “I can’t even begin to describe how happy it makes me that we’re actually doing this. Running away together. I feel like we should have cameras perked up all around us, recording every word we say, every action we make. 

“I’m literally living in a romantic drama movie. And guess what that makes you?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “The love interest?”

Lance nodded. “The love interest.”

Keith sighed. “You’re so . . .”

“Charming?”

“Cheesy. And unpredictable. I hate it.”

“You love it,” Lance said, that award-winning smirk plastering his face once again.

“I hate it,” Keith repeated.

Moments past, the only sounds surrounding them being the jostle of the boat as it slowly grazed over the water, the people tossing about light conversations here and there, and the birds chirping as they flew over the Mississippi river. 

In a way, Keith agreed with Lance. He wasn’t in complete denial. 

His life really was starting to feel like a romance movie. 

And although he outwardly complained, he couldn’t have been happier.

He was worried, though, and there was absolutely no denying that. He couldn’t help but wonder what was to happen right before the screen went blank, and the ending credits started to roll.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this new chapter! It was mostly fluff, but I can assure you, there is more angst to come ;)


	24. The Journey Pt. 2

**April 15, 2017**

**Donaldsonville, Louisiana**

Keith once again checked the map Lance insisted they pick up from the docking station while his eager little friend peeked over his shoulder the whole time. 

“Alright,” Keith said, rolling his eyes and shoving the map into Lance’s chest as he continued onward. “It’s the same route as two minutes ago. We just continue down St. Patrick street, then turn onto Cataldo. I know where I’m going, Lance.”

“Are you sure?” His travel companion asked for the thirteenth time. “I feel like we’re not walking down the right road. You’re positive this is St. Patrick street?”

“Yes, Lance,” Keith said, exasperated. “I’m positive.” 

Minutes passed, the two of them trekking along in silence. Keith’s heart had settled down for the most part, and he was actually starting to appreciate the moist Louisiana air and the gentle breeze that sliced past them every so often. The greenery in this area was beautiful this time of year, and Keith took a mental picture of some of the surrounding bushes, promising that he’d recreate the image in his iPad later. 

After a couple hours, they finally arrived at their destination. 

“This is it,” Keith said, coming to a stop in front of a single leveled house. It appeared small, but cozy. Run-down, but comfortably worn in. 

“This is it?” Lance asked, blue eyes darting about the front lawn. 

It wasn’t much, but it was their safe haven. 

A thin, cemented walkway led to the front door, where Keith hesitantly knocked, hoping beyond hope that he had remembered correctly, and that Sven still lived in the same house he did four years prior to their impromptu visit. 

A mere second after Keith knocked, barking sounded from inside the house. Moments later, and footsteps neared before the knob turned and a young man opened the door. 

 

“K-Keith?” Sven asked, his accent richer than Keith remembered.

Keith let out a small sigh of relief. “Sven,” He breathed, “I’m glad you’re here. This is Lance, my-” Keith glanced over his shoulder at Lance, wondering what exactly he should label him as. “Friend?” He said hesitantly.

Lance shrugged, not supplying anything else.

Keith took that as a good sign. Turning back to Sven, Keith continued. “I’m sorry we’re dropping by without notice. I was just wondering if we could maybe stay the night? We’re headed to Lake Charles, but it’s a ways away. We had to camp out in the woods last night, and I’d prefer to stay in an actual house, if that’s alright. And . . . if it’s not too much to ask, would you be willing to give us a ride to the Lake? It’s days away on foot, and we don’t ha-”

“Wait a minute, slow down,” Sven said, “What business do you have at the Lake?”

“Well . . .” Keith’s voice drifted off as he tried to come up with a lie. “I was wanting to show Lance the Beach Picnic area at the edge of the Lake. Shiro used to take me there all the time, and I’m just hoping to go there again. It’s been awhile since we went.”

Sven eyed Keith a bit warily, making him nervous. He started fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket.

“Where is Shiro, anyway?” Sven asked, “Wouldn’t he be driving you to the Lake personally? And I thought you were supposed to be on bedrest. What about your hea-”

“Nevermind Shiro. I’m taking Lance to the Lake myself. If you’re not going to help us, we’ll be out of your hair.” Keith’s eyes narrowed subconsciously, his voice taking on a dangerous tone.

“Whoa- Keith,” Sven said, “No need to get stubborn. I’ll help you. Come in.”

Sven opened the door wider, creating room for the two boys to walk inside. 

“Thank you,” Keith muttered. He slipped off his jacket once he got inside, taking a glance around. It was a comfy house, with a hand-crafted wooden coffee table, brown couch and small television set. The walls were a muted green - not the best color, though it made Keith feel like he was still outside. Furniture decorated the main floor here and there, though left plenty of walking space to maneuver around. I smelled a bit like dirt and sawdust.

“So, does Shiro know you left the hospital?” Sven asked, folding his arms and raising a doubtful eyebrow.

“Honestly, no,” Keith answered, unlacing his shoes and setting them by the front door. “I knew he wouldn’t let me go if I asked, so-” Keith shrugged. “So I skipped the asking-for-permission part.” Now done shedding himself of his boots, Keith made his way into the kitchen. “Do you have any food we could snack on? All we really have is granola bars and potato chips.” Without waiting for an answer, Keith opened up a cupboard and fished out a box of _Life_ cereal. “Bowls?”

“To the left.” Sven said. 

“Thanks.” Keith grabbed a couple bowls from the adjacent cupboard, then set them down on the kitchen counter as Lance took a seat across from him. “Did you want some?”

“Yes please.”

Keith poured a fair amount of cereal into both bowls, then ransacked the fridge for milk. All he had was 2%.

_I’m gonna regret this . . ._ Keith thought, pouring milk into their bowls. He checked three different drawers before finding spoons. 

“Here,” He said, handing a spoon to Lance and slipping into the seat next to him. 

“Thanks.”

Lance began slurping down his cereal, though Keith was a bit hesitant. 

He listened to Sven walk down the hall and into another room, where he was probably checking on his dog. If Keith remembered right, his dog’s name was Slav, though he couldn’t recall the breed of the animal. 

Leaning over the counter as to not spill, Keith began eating his cereal, taking small bites here and there. By the time he was halfway finished, the cereal was soggy and his stomach had already begun to feel queasy. Disregarding the last portions of his meal, Keith set his bowl in Sven’s sink and washed out the remaining cereal. 

“Not that hungry?” Lance questioned, his own bowl lying empty in front of him. Keith took it upon himself to clean out Lance’s bowl, as well. 

Keith shrugged in response to Lance’s question. “Not really.”

Moments later, Sven came walking down the hallway with his dog in tow. Keith had seen the animal before, so he wasn’t impressed. Lance, however, let out a small “Awww,” when he saw the dog for the first time. 

“What breed are they?” Lance asked, slipping off his stool and kneeling down to pet Slav behind the ears.

“French Bulldog,” Sven replied, taking a seat on the brown couch in the main room. “His name’s Slav.”

“Slav, huh?” Lance asked in a tone one would use to speak to a newborn baby. “He’s a cute little guy. Aren’t you, buddy?” Lance continued to scratch the dog behind his ears and make cooing noises. Keith would have been embarrassed if he didn’t think it was so adorable. He found himself staring as Lance’s smile grew. Eventually, he noticed a smile plaguing his own lips. He brushed the feeling away. 

“How long do you guys need to stay?” Sven asked from his seat on the couch. 

“I’m not sure,” Keith responded, “I’d be nice if we could leave for the Lake first thing in the morning. I just want to shower and get a good night’s rest.”

Sven nodded. “Why don’t you shower now? I can start making dinner right away. It is getting pretty late. Go clean up. I have some extra clothes you can borrow if you need them.” 

“Alright, thanks,” Keith said, then turned to Lance. “Will you be alright if I shower?”

Lance glanced over at Sven, as if he wasn’t sure he could trust the man. 

“It’s alright,” Keith reassured, “Sven is a friend. You can trust him. I’ll be quick, okay?”

Lance nodded. “Alright.” He said quietly. 

Padding his way into the bathroom, Keith dropped his backpack onto the floor to dig out some of his extra clothes that he brought. His eyes fell on the galaxy shirt Rolo had gotten him a few years ago. A sudden pang of guilt froze over his veins. Before he could let the feeling overwhelm him, Keith dropped it on the floor and pulled out a pair of pants. Stripping himself down, Keith tested the water before stepping into the shower and rinsing himself off. He tried to be quick, and about ten minutes later, he was leaving the bathroom in a set of clean clothes and a towel draped over his dampened hair.

When Lance saw him, his eyes lit up and a smile stretched over his face. “You’re wearing the shirt I picked out!” 

Keith began to fiddle with the hem of his shirt. “Uh . . . yeah,” He said slowly, “It’s a little small, but-”

“I like it,” Lance said with a grin, “It makes your eyes look brighter and full of life.” His expression softened. “It makes your eyes look even more beautiful than before.”

“Shut up,” Keith muttered, turning to hide the blush that had risen to his cheeks. “Just take a shower, you smell.”

Lance giggled, grazing his fingertips across Keith’s cheek as he brushed past him and into the bathroom. Once the door closed, separating the two boys, Keith let out a breath. 

“‘Friends’, huh?” Sven said with a smirk. 

“Shut up,” Keith repeated, though he couldn’t hide the smile that had started to form on his lips. 

“So tell me about him,” Sven said, patting one of the dining chairs, as if summoning Keith over. Keith obliged. 

Sliding into the chair, Keith glanced over his shoulder before speaking, as if Lance were somehow able to overhear him from the bathroom. 

“Well, his name is Lance,” Keith said. 

Sven rolled his eyes. As promised, he had started to prepare a proper dinner for them, rather than just a bowl of cereal. It smelled delicious, and Keith suspected it was lasagna. “Yes, yes, you said that already. His name is Lance. He likes dogs, and your eyes. Tell me more.” Sven leaned over the counter, a dirited spoon in hand. 

“He’s . . .” Keith paused, suddenly feeling his heart swell. It would have been a wonderful and blissful feeling if it wasn’t so painful. “He’s . . . Lance,” Keith said simply, with a shrug. “He’s charming, and silly, and cute, and . . . he’s kind of saving my life right now.”

Sven’s eyes softened, as if he could have possibly understood. “I see,” He said, though Keith suspected he didn’t. How could he? “You like him a lot, don’t you?”

Keith shrugged, trying to keep his eyes focused on the counter in front of him, strategically cocking his head to the side so his damp bangs covered his rising blush. “I mean . . . I guess.”

There was the slightest twinkle of a laugh as Sven turned and continued preparing dinner for them. “And it seems rather obvious that he likes you, too, huh?”

At that, Keith’s blush darkened, and the slightest hint of a smile pinched the corners of his mouth. “I hope . . .” Keith whispered, mostly to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been way too fucking long, my friends.


	25. Fleeing

**April 15, 2017**

**Donaldsonville, Louisiana**

Keith heard the sirens before he spotted the flashing red and blue lights. They startled him awake and sent a jolt of sheer, unknown panic through his veins. 

“Lance,” He whispered. Then, “Lance!” Leaping out of Sven’s bed their host had so graciously lent him for the night, Keith scrambled about, snatching up his backpack and other belongings before dashing across the hall. “Lance!” Bursting into the guest room, Keith nearly tripped over Lance’s sleeping body. Hurriedly, the young boy shook his friend awake. 

“Lance, we have to go. Right. Now.” Keith said, desperation in his voice and adrenaline in his veins. As Lance groggily woke from his slumber, Keith heard faint voices coming from outside. 

The sirens stopped, but the lights continued to dance through the blinds, casting the two boys in pools of red and blue.

“What . . . what’s going on?” Lance asked sleepily. 

“There’s no time. Get up, we have to go!” Keith snapped, hoisting Lance up and onto his feet. “Grab your things. Hurry!”

Keith rushed about the room, helping Lance gather his belongings together as the other boy still struggled to wake up properly. Seconds later, and Keith grasped Lance’s hand tightly, leading him down the hall and through the back door. 

“Wait, Keith-” Lance started.

“No!” Keith hushed his companion, “We have to go!” Dragging Lance onward, Keith pulled off his backpack to toss it over the fence. After doing the same with Lance’s bag, Keith helped Lance up and over the fence, then followed suit. Grabbing their backpacks, the two boys rushed off into the night, leaving behind the flashing lights and the comfort of Sven’s home. 

After about a mile of walking, Lance spoke up again. 

“Keith . . . Why did we have to leave?”

Keith’s eyes stung from the tears that dared to form, and he glared at the ground as he stomped onward. He thought he could trust Sven. He thought that they would be safe there, away from the placid white walls of the hospital, away from the taxing medical tests they were forced to endure, and away from the overwhelming feeling of being caged. He thought they could be free there. 

“I was wrong,” Keith admitted, “I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean?” Lance asked, his grip on Keith’s hand tightening. 

“I mean,” Keith sighed, “Sven called the cops on us. He probably called Shrio, too. They know where we are now. And now . . . they know where we’re going, too.”

Keith’s arm was tugged back as Lance came to a stop. “So,” Lance said, “We can’t go to the Lake anymore?”

Keith shook his head in dismay. “It’d be best if we didn’t. If we don’t want them to find us, we have to go somewhere else. Somewhere they won’t find us.” Scanning the horizon, Keith tried to call to memory the layout of the location they were currently in. He knew there were a lot of churches nearby. They could hide out in one for a while and lay low. If Keith remembered right . . . 

“This way,” He said, leading Lance down the street. Keith could faintly make out the pointed roof of a church up ahead in the foggy midnight air. Once they got close enough, Keith read the plaque on the front of the building. 

**Greater Mt. Pilgrim B.C.**

Keith let go of Lance’s hand to try the doorknob. As he expected, it was locked. After trying the other doors to no avail, Keith scanned the perimeter of the building, grazing his fingers over numerous windows, deciding which one would be the easiest to open. After a minute or so, Keith gestured for Lance to come closer. Digging through his backpack, Keith fished out the pocket knife Shiro had given to him on his twelfth birthday. Sliding it along the interior of the window, Keith struggled for a few seconds, wrestling with the window before it finally unlocked. Slipping the pocket knife back into his bag, Keith opened the widow and signaled for Lance to climb inside. As he did so, the cuban boy let out a small, breathless chuckle. 

“What’s so funny?” Keith asked, a small smile of his own finding its way to his lips as he crawled in after Lance. 

As he slipped the window closed behind them, Lance laughed again. “Don’t you think it’s kind of funny that a couple of guys - who, I might add, are totally gay for each other - are hiding from the cops in a fucking Baptist Church?”

Keith snickered. “Well when you put it that way-”

The two shared another small, breathless laugh, and for a moment Keith could taste the air escaping from Lance’s lips. The strongest urge to lean forward and close the gap between them completely suddenly became overwhelming. 

It was dark in the room, and smelled like old carpet and chalk. The bricks were outdated, and the chalkboard overused. It was a small room, hardly big enough for ten people. Though, Keith supposed the minimum spacing wasn’t really an issue when one yearned to be as close as physically possible to the other person in the room. 

Violet eyes gazed into the dark, meeting sparkling pools of fresh seawater irises. It was difficult to see in the room, though after so many seconds, Keith’s eyes had adjusted appropriately. 

Keith could barely make out Lance’s silhouette. He could see his disheveled hair sticking this way and that, and considering they didn’t take any time to tame themselves before they left, Keith was positive his hair was also an unkempt mess, even more so than Lance’s. Keith smiled, running his fingers through Lance’s hair. After showering just a few hours before, it was soft, and still a little damp. Keith loved it. He wanted to tell Lance that he loved it. He was going to tell him, but just as his lips were parting for him to speak, they were met by Lance’s.

Shocked by the sudden contact, Keith stiffened in place. 

He had never been kissed before. Never had the pleasure of feeling another boy’s lips on his own. He didn’t think he’d ever have the chance to, before the dying embers of his heart were finally snuffed out. He never imagined that something so magnificent and full of life would ever find its way to his lonely lips. Never before did he think he’d get the chance to experience this sort of intimate love. 

Yet, here he was. 

Standing in the darkened room of a church building, Lance’s lips pressed firmly and purposefully against his. 

It took his breath away. 

He couldn’t recall how long it lasted; couldn’t remember how many seconds were spent entangled in the embrace. Though, after a while, his lips were bare once more, a breeze chilling them without the warmth of Lance to comfort him. 

“I’m . . . sorry,” Lance whispered breathlessly, “I thought that you . . . that that was okay.”

With the fire Lance had started in Keith’s chest, the boy found it difficult to breathe - difficult to move. 

“What do you mean?” Keith asked, surprised by the amount of effort it took just to voice those four words. It felt like every vein in his body was sparking through his system, lighting fires and creating storms. 

It felt like chaos.

“I loved it.” Keith said, already gravitating toward Lance once more.

He craved that feeling. The fire in his veins, the thunderclouds in his head. He needed the chaos. He needed the blistering rain in his fingertips as they desperately cradled Lance’s cheeks, like rainwater he was too afraid to let slip through his fingers. He needed the dancing flames in his eyes, his mouth, feeding the fire and birthing new life from just their lips. He needed this. This feeling - like he was finally living. 

He needed Lance. 

“I didn’t understand before,” Keith managed, breaking apart their kiss a second time, “When you said you loved me. I didn’t understand. But now,” Keith panted, grazing his lips across Lance’s, earnest for them to touch just once more, even for the briefest of moments. “Now . . . I think I do.”


End file.
